a heart, did I not, count?" Monte
Cristo only answered by extending his hand to the young man. "Well,"
continued the latter, "since that heart is no longer with you in the
Bois de Vincennes, it is elsewhere, and I must go and find it."

"Go," said the count deliberately; "go, dear friend, but promise me if
you meet with any obstacle to remember that I have some power in this
world, that I am happy to use that power in the behalf of those I love,
and that I love you, Morrel."

"I will remember it," said the young man, "as selfish children recollect
their parents when they want their aid. When I need your assistance, and
the moment arrives, I will come to you, count."

"Well, I rely upon your promise. Good-by, then."

"Good-by, till we meet again." They had arrived in the Champs Elysees.
Monte Cristo opened the carriage-door, Morrel sprang out on the
pavement, Bertuccio was waiting on the steps. Morrel disappeared down
the Avenue de Marigny, and Monte Cristo hastened to join Bertuccio.

"Well?" asked he.

"She is going to leave her house," said the steward.

"And her son?"

"Florentin, his valet, thinks he is going to do the same."

"Come this way." Monte Cristo took Bertuccio into his study, wrote the
letter we have seen, and gave it to the steward. "Go," said he quickly.
"But first, let Haidee be informed that I have returned."

"Here I am," said the young girl, who at the sound of the carriage had
run down-stairs and whose face was radiant with joy at seeing the count
return safely. Bertuccio left. Every transport of a daughter finding a
father, all the delight of a mistress seeing an adored lover, were felt
by Haidee during the first moments of this meeting, which she had so
eagerly expected. Doubtless, although less evident, Monte Cristo's joy
was not less intense. Joy to hearts which have suffered long is like the
dew on the ground after a long drought; both the heart and the ground
absorb that beneficent moisture falling on them, and nothing is
outwardly apparent.

Monte Cristo was beginning to think, what he had not for a long time
dared to believe, that there were two Mercedes in the world, and he
might yet be happy. His eye, elate with happiness, was reading eagerly
the tearful gaze of Haidee, when suddenly the door opened. The count
knit his brow. "M. de Morcerf!" said Baptistin, as if that name sufficed
for his excuse. In fact, the count's face brightened.

"Which," asked he, "the viscount or th