father's hand tremble. 'A boat!―two!―three!' murmured my father;―'four!' He then rose, seizing his arms and priming his pistols. 'Vasiliki,' said he to my mother, trembling perceptibly, 'the instant approaches which will decide everything. In the space of half an hour we shall know the sultan's answer. Go into the cavern with Haydée.'―'I will not quit you,' said Vasiliki; 'if you die, my lord, I will die with you.'―'Go to Selim!' cried my father.―'Adieu! my lord,' murmured my mother, determining quietly to wait the approach of death.―'Take away Vasiliki!' said my father to his Palicares.
"As for me, I had been forgotten; I ran toward him; he saw me hold out my arms to him, and he stooped down and pressed my forehead with his lips. Oh! that kiss! it was the last; it is still on my forehead. On descending, we distinguished through the lattice-work several boats which were gradually becoming more distinct. At first they were like black specks, they now looked like birds skimming the surface of the waves. During this time, in the kiosk, at the feet of my father, were seated twenty Palicares, concealed from view by an angle of the wall, and watching with eager eyes the arrival of the boats, and holding, ready, their long guns inlaid with mother-of-pearl and silver. Cartridges in great numbers were lying scattered on the floor; my father looked at his watch, and paced up and down in anguish. This was the scene which presented itself when I quitted my father after that last kiss.
"My mother and I traversed the passage to the tavern. Selim was still at his post, and smiled sadly on us. We fetched our cushions from the other end of the tavern, and sat down by Selim. In great dangers the devoted ones cling to each other; and, young as I was, I quite understood that some imminent danger was hanging over our heads.
Albert had often heard, not from his father, for he never spoke on the subject, but from strangers, the description of the last moments of the vizier of Janina; he had read different accounts of his death, but this history seemed to borrow new life from the voice and expression of the young girl; this living accent and melancholy expression at once charmed and horrified him.
As to Haydée, at these terrible reminiscences, she ceased speaking, her head leaning on her hand like a flower in a storm, and her eyes, gazing on vacancy, seemed still to see the green summit of Pindus, and the blue waters of the Lake of Janina, a magic mirror, reflecting the somber picture which she sketched. Monte-Cristo looked at her with an indescribable expression of interest and pity.
"Go on, my child!" said the count, in the Romaic language.
Haydée looked up abruptly, as if the sonorous tones of Monte-Cristo's voice had awakened her from a dream, and she resumed her narrative.
