g of
the eyelid that show emotion. "Ah, you have a noble heart," said the
count; "so much the better." This exclamation, which corresponded to
the count's own thought rather than to what Albert was saying, surprised
everybody, and especially Morrel, who looked at Monte Cristo with
wonder. But, at the same time, the intonation was so soft that, however
strange the speech might seem, it was impossible to be offended at it.
"Why should he doubt it?" said Beauchamp to Chateau-Renaud.

"In reality," replied the latter, who, with his aristocratic glance
and his knowledge of the world, had penetrated at once all that was
penetrable in Monte Cristo, "Albert has not deceived us, for the count
is a most singular being. What say you, Morrel!"

"Ma foi, he has an open look about him that pleases me, in spite of the
singular remark he has made about me."

"Gentlemen," said Albert, "Germain informs me that breakfast is ready.
My dear count, allow me to show you the way." They passed silently into
the breakfast-room, and every one took his place. "Gentlemen," said the
count, seating himself, "permit me to make a confession which must form
my excuse for any improprieties I may commit. I am a stranger, and a
stranger to such a degree, that this is the first time I have ever been
at Paris. The French way of living is utterly unknown to me, and up to
the present time I have followed the Eastern customs, which are entirely
in contrast to the Parisian. I beg you, therefore, to excuse if you find
anything in me too Turkish, too Italian, or too Arabian. Now, then, let
us breakfast."

"With what an air he says all this," muttered Beauchamp; "decidedly he
is a great man."

"A great man in his own country," added Debray.

"A great man in every country, M. Debray," said Chateau-Renaud. The
count was, it may be remembered, a most temperate guest. Albert remarked
this, expressing his fears lest, at the outset, the Parisian mode of
life should displease the traveller in the most essential point. "My
dear count," said he, "I fear one thing, and that is, that the fare of
the Rue du Helder is not so much to your taste as that of the Piazza di
Spagni. I ought to have consulted you on the point, and have had some
dishes prepared expressly."

"Did you know me better," returned the count, smiling, "you would not
give one thought of such a thing for a traveller like myself, who
has successively lived on maccaroni at Naples, polenta at Milan, olla
p