s signature there was, indeed, the seal of the
sublime emperor. A dreadful silence followed the reading of this
document; the count could only stare, and his gaze, fixed as if
unconsciously on Haidee, seemed one of fire and blood. 'Madame,' said
the president, 'may reference be made to the Count of Monte Cristo,
who is now, I believe, in Paris?'--'Sir,' replied Haidee, 'the Count
of Monte Cristo, my foster-father, has been in Normandy the last three
days.'

"'Who, then, has counselled you to take this step, one for which
the court is deeply indebted to you, and which is perfectly natural,
considering your birth and your misfortunes?'--'Sir,' replied Haidee,
'I have been led to take this step from a feeling of respect and grief.
Although a Christian, may God forgive me, I have always sought to
revenge my illustrious father. Since I set my foot in France, and knew
the traitor lived in Paris, I have watched carefully. I live retired
in the house of my noble protector, but I do it from choice. I love
retirement and silence, because I can live with my thoughts and
recollections of past days. But the Count of Monte Cristo surrounds me
with every paternal care, and I am ignorant of nothing which passes in
the world. I learn all in the silence of my apartments,--for instance, I
see all the newspapers, every periodical, as well as every new piece of
music; and by thus watching the course of the life of others, I learned
what had transpired this morning in the House of Peers, and what was to
take place this evening; then I wrote.'

"'Then,' remarked the president, 'the Count of Monte Cristo knows
nothing of your present proceedings?'--'He is quite unaware of them, and
I have but one fear, which is that he should disapprove of what I
have done. But it is a glorious day for me,' continued the young girl,
raising her ardent gaze to heaven, 'that on which I find at last an
opportunity of avenging my father!'

"The count had not uttered one word the whole of this time. His
colleagues looked at him, and doubtless pitied his prospects, blighted
under the perfumed breath of a woman. His misery was depicted in
sinister lines on his countenance. 'M. de Morcerf,' said the president,
'do you recognize this lady as the daughter of Ali Tepelini, pasha of
Yanina?'--'No,' said Morcerf, attempting to rise, 'it is a base plot,
contrived by my enemies.' Haidee, whose eyes had been fixed on the
door, as if expecting some one, turned hastily, and,