vens, inundated the vast apartment with its golden light
and filled it with a generous warmth.

Haydee, the wife of Monte-Cristo, reclined upon an oriental rug, her
head pillowed in the lap of Mercedes, who sat on a divan elegantly
upholstered in the eastern fashion. Mercedes was lightly toying with
Haydee's glossy hair that fell like a cloud about her shapely shoulders.
Her eyes were beaming with affection, while those of Haydee had in them
a dreamy, faraway look.

"Sister," said Mercedes at last, "why are you so sad and silent?"

"I know not," replied the wife of Monte-Cristo, languidly.

"You are thinking of your husband, the noblest of men, who is even now,
perhaps, risking his life in the Algerian desert to save and recover my
son."

"You speak truly," returned Haydee with a shudder; "I am thinking of
him, and my heart is strangely oppressed."

"Have confidence in Monte-Cristo," said her companion, earnestly. "His
lion courage, wonderful mental resources and mysterious power will
render him more than a match for the untutored Arabs with whom it is his
mission to contend."

"Yes, Mercedes; but my son, my Esperance? He is so young to be exposed
to the dangers of the desert!"

"But Monte-Cristo is with him, and the father's love will shield him
from all harm."

Haydee made no reply, but continued to gaze dreamily into space.
Mercedes, still toying with her hair, strove to rouse her.

"Sister," said she, abruptly, "yesterday you promised to tell me how
Monte-Cristo rescued you from the hands of the Turkish slave-dealer, Ali
Pasha. Will you not fulfil that promise now?"

Haydee turned her eyes full on her companion's countenance and a look of
gratitude passed over her pale visage. She saw that Mercedes wished to
draw her mind from the contemplation of her husband's present peril by
inducing her to revert to his heroism of the past.

"I will tell you," said she, "here in this apartment where everything,
even to the very air, is vital with souvenirs of my beloved husband."
And, without altering her position, Haydee at once commenced the
following thrilling narration:

"We were cruising off the coast of Egypt in the Alcyon, when the idea of
visiting Constantinople suddenly occurred to Monte-Cristo. He gave his
orders without an instant's delay and the yacht was immediately headed
for the Sultan's dominions.

"We reached Constantinople in due time, after an exceedingly pleasant
voyage, for though it was to