HAYDE, THE WIFE OF MONTE-CRISTO.

It was in Monte-Cristo’s luxurious mansion in Marseilles, one bright morning in April. Since the Count’s departure for Algeria in search of her son, Mercedes, faithful to her oath never to leave Haydee, had taken up her residence there. The two women who had filled such important places in the life of Monte-Cristo were sitting together in the large drawing-room, the windows of which looked out upon the calm blue waters of the Mediterranean. These windows were open and through them floated the delightful perfume of the flowers from the garden beyond, mingled with the saline odors of the sea. It was about ten o’clock and the sun, high in the heavens, 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 toward the close of spring the weather was mild and for weeks the sea had been as calm and unruffled as a mirror.

“As we entered the Bosporus, we noticed a strange craft hovering near us. It was a small, rakish-looking vessel bearing the Turkish flag. Monte-Cristo had run up his private ensign on the Alcyon, an ensign that was recognized by all nations and gave the yacht free entrance into every port.

“The strange craft seemed to be following us, but as it made no attempt to approach the yacht, we soon became used to its presence and ceased to give it attention.

“When the Alcyon anchored, a gorgeously decorated caïque, manned by a score of stalwart oarsmen, shot from shore and was soon alongside of the yacht. A magnificently-appareled old man with a long, snowy beard, attended by four solemn and stately eunuchs, came on board and was ceremoniously received by the Count. It was the Grand Vizier, who, having recognized Monte-Cristo’s ensign, had hastened to welcome the illustrious hero to Constantinople in the name of his august master, the Sultan.

“Such an honor merited prompt and becoming recognition, and Monte-Cristo was too much of a Frenchman not to return compliment for compliment. Leaving the Alcyon in charge of his first officer, and bidding me a hasty and tender farewell, the Count entered the caïque with the Grand Vizier and departed to pay his respects in person to the ruler of the Turkish nation.

“No sooner was the caïque lost to sight among the shipping than the strange craft we had previously observed suddenly ran up to the yacht and made fast to her with grappling-irons. Before Monte-Cristo’s men could recover from their surprise at this manoeuvre they were made prisoners and securely bound by twenty Turkish buccaneers, who had leaped over the bulwarks of the Alcyon, headed by a villainous-looking wretch, furiously brandishing a jeweled yataghan. This was Ali Pasha, the slave-dealer, as I soon learned to my cost.

“When the ruffians boarded the yacht, I had rushed below and hidden myself in Monte-Cristo’s cabin, first securing a keen-bladed dagger for my defence.

“I had locked the door, but it was almost instantly burst open and Ali Pasha leaped in, followed by several of his crew.

“Holding my weapon uplifted in my hand, I cried out, in a tone of desperate determination:

“’The first scoundrel who dares to lay a finger on me shall die like a dog!’

“This speech was greeted with a loud burst of contemptuous laughter, and Ali Pasha himself, springing forward, whirled the dagger from my grasp with his yataghan. This done, he sternly fixed his glance upon me and said:

“’Haydee, wife of Monte-Cristo, Haydee, the Greek slave, you are my captive! Sons of Islam, seize her and conduct her to the slave mart of Stamboul!’

“Three Turks advanced to obey this command. They seized me and in vain did I struggle in their ruffianly grasp. In a moment I was securely bound and gagged. A mantle was thrown over my head. I felt myself thrust into a sack and swooned just as one of the buccaneers was lifting me upon his shoulder.

“When I recovered consciousness, I found myself, with a number of half-clad Georgian and Circassian girls, in the dreaded slave bazaar of Constantinople. Old memories, fraught with terror, rushed upon me. I recalled the time when I was before exposed for sale and Monte-Cristo had bought me. Would he come to my rescue once more? I scarcely dared to hope for such a thing. I pictured to myself the Count’s desolation and distress on discovering that I had been stolen from him. But what could he do? How could he find me again? And even should he discover me, how could he snatch me from the grasp of Ali Pasha, whose favor with the Sultan was notorious? Monte-Cristo, with all his prestige, was but one man, and no match for the mendaciousness, duplicity and power of the entire Turkish court! I was lost, and nothing could save me!

“How shall I describe my feelings when I realized that I was even then, at that very moment, exposed for sale, that from being the free and honored wife of Monte-Cristo I had suddenly become a mere article of human merchandise, valued simply at so many miserable piastres! My fate hung upon a thread. Would I be purchased by some grandee as a new ornament for his harem, or was I destined to fall into the hands of a brutal master, to be used as a household drudge for the execution of bitter and revolting tasks?

“When each new purchaser entered the bazaar I trembled from head to foot, I quivered in every limb. One by one I saw the unfortunate Georgian and Circassian girls inspected and disposed of, until at last I was the only slave unsold in the entire mart. I thought my turn must speedily come, that the next Mussulman who entered would surely buy me, and I had firmly resolved upon suicide at the first opportunity, choosing death rather than slavery.

“Ali Pasha had personally conducted all the visitors about the bazaar, dilating in the extravagant oriental fashion upon the extraordinary merits of the captives he wished to turn into money. Many times he had paused before me where I stood cowering in a corner, volubly expatiating on my value and attractiveness, but hitherto not a single Turk had evinced the slightest inclination to relieve him of me.

“At last two men made their appearance and eagerly glanced around the mart. Both wore turbans and full Turkish dress. Their faces were shrouded with heavy beards, and there was an indescribable something about them that stamped them as personages of exalted rank.

“They paused a short distance from me, and one of them said, addressing Ali Pasha:

“‘What is the name of yonder slave?’

“‘Zuleika,’ answered the obsequious and unscrupulous slave-dealer.

“‘From what country is she and how did you obtain possession of her?’ asked the second visitor, who had not yet spoken. His voice was subdued and evidently disguised; nevertheless there was something familiar in its tone that strangely stirred me and filled me with hope.

“Ali Pasha replied to his inquiry with unblushing effrontery:

“‘The slave is from Circassia, and was sold to me by her parents.’

“I know not how I obtained the courage to do so, but instantly I cried out:

“’All that vile wretch has said is false! My name is Haydee, and I am the wife of the Count of Monte-Cristo! Ali Pasha forcibly abducted me from my husband’s yacht that now lies in the harbor of Constantinople!’

“‘Ali Pasha,’ said the first speaker, ’this is a grave accusation! It is true that the illustrious Monte-Cristo’s yacht now lies in the harbor of Stamboul, and such an abduction as this slave has mentioned did, indeed, take place.’

“The slave-dealer winced slightly, but, instantly recovering himself, calmly answered:

“’I know nothing of Monte-Cristo, his yacht or his wife. As for this lying slave, I will punish her on the spot!’

“With these words he advanced toward me and lifted his clenched fist to strike. I shrank tremblingly against the wall, but the next instant a blow that would have felled an ox had hurled Ali Pasha to the stone floor of the bazaar. It was delivered by the man whose voice had seemed familiar to me, and, tearing off his beard, my husband, the undaunted Count of Monte-Cristo himself, caught me in his arms and folded me to his breast!

“Ali Pasha had now arisen to his feet. Livid with rage he rushed at Monte-Cristo with a dagger in his hand, swearing by the Prophet that he would have his heart’s blood. But the other visitor caught his arm and held him back.

“‘Who are you and why do you stand between me and my just revenge?’ cried the slave-dealer, furiously.

“The stranger threw open his robe, and on his breast gleamed a diamond-studded crescent.

“‘The Grand Vizier!’ exclaimed Ali Pasha, prostrating himself before the high official. The latter clapped his hands, whereupon six soldiers marched into the bazaar.

“‘Seize that wretch!’ he cried, pointing to the slave-dealer, ’and inflict upon him the punishment of the bastinado!’

“When this order had been executed, the Grand Vizier, placing himself at the head of the soldiers, escorted Monte-Cristo and myself to the harbor and saw us safely on board the royal caïque.

“In due time we reached the yacht, where the officers and crew were at their posts as usual.

“After his interview with the Sultan, Monte-Cristo, accompanied by the Grand Vizier, had returned to the Alcyon in the caïque. To his astonishment he found his men lying on the deck tightly bound. On releasing them he learned what had happened, and his influence was sufficient to induce the Grand Vizier, who was greatly affected by the Count’s despair when he discovered the terrible fate that had befallen me, to risk the Sultan’s displeasure by aiding him to recover me from the clutches of Ali Pasha.

“Such,” concluded Haydee, “was the manner in which Monte-Cristo rescued me from the hands of the villainous Turkish slave-dealer and a fate worse than death.”

“Sister,” said Mercedes, “no wonder you love Monte-Cristo so devotedly, for he is one of the noblest and most heroic men upon this earth!”