The Son of Monte-Cristo Volume I Part 71

Medje turned deathly pale as she heard these words.

She stretched her arms toward the south and mournfully said:

"Little papa is down there, in the sultana's dungeon."

"Do you mean Captain Joliette, whom you call little papa?" asked Monte-Cristo.

"Yes."

"And the sultana is Uargla, the mysterious city?"

The young girl s.h.i.+vered as she replied:

"Yes, Uargla. There he suffers and there, too, he will be killed."

Monte-Cristo waved back those around, and then asked her in a whisper:

"Why did you come here?"

"To look for you."

"For me? Do you know me?"

"No."

"Somebody has told you my name?"

"No."

"Explain yourself more plainly."

"I will tell you everything, but let these men go away."

"Follow me," said the count.

The count ordered Coucou to take charge of the dead lion, and of Bertuccio's body, which would be buried in the morning. He then gazed intently at the girl, and recognized two pale six-cornered stars in dead gold color on her cheeks. This filled him with new hope.

"Poor Bertuccio," sighed the Jackal, "he was a good comrade."

"And a faithful soul," added Monte-Cristo.

Spero came running up, and winding his arm around his father's neck, whisperingly asked:

"Papa, why could I not accompany you?"

"My child, it was a fight with a lion."

"You were not afraid? Why should I have been?"

The handsome boy now, for the first time, perceived Medje, who smiled at him.

"Who is that, papa?" he asked in a whisper.

"A friend, Spero; offer her your hand."

The boy obeyed and Medje raised his hand to her lips, murmuring:

"Son of him who kills lions, may G.o.d measure your years by the kisses which your father gives you."

Monte-Cristo clasped his arms around Spero's shoulders and, accompanied by him and Medje, approached the tent. But before he reached it an Arab excitedly ran toward him with outstretched arms.

"Oh, master, hear me. Do not let this woman cross the threshold of the camp."

"Why not?"

"Did you not see the sign on her cheek? She is accursed."

Involuntarily Medje covered her face with her hands.

Monte-Cristo angrily retorted:

"Silence. The weaker have a right to the hospitality of the stronger."

"Oh, my lord. Heed my warning. She is a witch, an accursed fortune-teller. You will be sorry if she enters the camp. She will cast a spell over camels and men."

"All the same, leave me. Medje has placed herself under my protection and I will not deceive her confidence."

The Arabian girl clung weeping to the count.

"Do not grieve," he said, "you have mentioned a name which renders you holy in my eyes."

He then turned to the Arab, and sternly continued:

"You may have your liberty if you desire. But if you have not only spoken in your own name but also in that of your comrades, tell them that Monte-Cristo, the lion-tamer, is afraid of n.o.body. They may all leave. The desert with its terrors cannot alter my will."

The other Arabs, who had drawn near, heard these words, and enthusiastically exclaimed:

"We will not leave you, lion-killer."

The count nodded and, addressing the Corsican, said:

"Give him double what he claims. In my home no attention is paid to magic; we honor G.o.d and laugh at demons."

He slowly entered his tent, and gazing at Spero and Medje, in a friendly tone of voice said:

"Do not be afraid, I am protecting you. Draw nearer, Medje, and answer my questions."

The young girl bowed low in token of obedience, and the count began: