age. Perhaps my heart was weaker than those of the generality, and I suffered more than they would have done in my place. This is all."
The countess stopped for a moment, as if gasping for breath. "Yes," she said, "and you have still preserved this love in your heart one can only love once and did you ever see her again?"
"Never!"
"Never?"
"I never returned to the country where she lived."
"At Malta?"
"Yes; at Malta."
"She is, then, now at Malta?"
"I think so."
"And have you forgiven her for all she has made you suffer!"
"Yes, I have pardoned her."
"But only her; do you, then, still hate those who separated you?"
"I hate them? not at all; why should I?" The countess placed herself before Monte-Cristo, still holding in her hand a portion of the perfumed grapes.
"Take some," she said.
"Madame, I never eat Muscatel grapes," replied Monte-Cristo, as if the subject had not been mentioned before. The countess dashed the grapes into the nearest thicket with a gesture of despair.
"Inflexible man!" she murmured. Monte-Cristo remained as unmoved as if the reproach had not been addressed to him.
Albert at this moment ran in. "Oh, mother!" he exclaimed, "such a misfortune has happened!"
"What? what has happened?" asked the countess, as though awaking from a sleep to the realities of life; "did you say a misfortune? Indeed, I should expect misfortunes."
"M. de Villefort is here."
"Well?"
"He comes to fetch his wife and daughter."
"Why so?"
"Because Madame de Saint-Meran is just arrived in Paris, bringing the news of M. de Saint-Meran's death, which took place on the first stage after he left Marseilles. Madame de Villefort, who was in very good spirits, would neither believe nor think of the misfortune; but Mademoiselle Valentine, at the first words, guessed the whole truth, notwithstanding all the precautions of her father; the blow struck her like a thunderbolt, and she fell senseless."
"And how was M. de Saint-Meran related to Mademoiselle de Villefort?" said the count.
