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Updated: May 31, 2025
"Such," concluded Haydée, "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 Mercédès, "no wonder you love Monte-Cristo so devotedly, for he is one of the noblest and most heroic men upon this earth!" Maldar and his Khouan followers had reached the desert with their captive.
"You are brave, and your father must love you." Spero did not answer, but his eyes sparkled when Maldar spoke his father's name. "I will know how to strike your proud father; he shall grovel in the dust at my feet. He stopped short. A new idea seemed to have taken possession of him. "All the prisoners are dead, are they not?" he asked, turning to a sheik.
"Man," he said to the Arab, "you did wrong to put yourself in my power. Nevertheless, I shall be hospitable to you. Go!" Turning to Coucou, he said: "This man is my guest, and as such he must be sacred to you." The Arab bowed, put his hand to his forehead, and turned toward the stairs. "One question more," said the count; "what is your name?" "I am called Maldar."
The scarf had been removed from Esperance's mouth, and the son of Monte-Cristo, still wrapped in his lethargic sleep, lay on the sod beside Maldar near one of the wells. It was a wild and picturesque group, such a group as would have filled the soul of a painter with delight and inspiration.
"Come with confidence to us," replied Maldar, earnestly. "In the citadel I will discuss your son's ransom with you." "Do not go, master," cried Coucou; "they are laying a trap for you." Monte-Cristo strode, nevertheless, toward the door. "Maldar," the count cried aloud, "I am here." The door was opened. Monte-Cristo went into a large courtyard. Maldar was waiting for him.
So interested were the count and Spero in the picture that they did not hear the stealthy steps behind them. Maldar was the man, and he had stretched forth his hands toward the boy. The count perceived him in the nick of time, and clutching him by the throat, threw him headlong down into the courtyard.
No, for at that moment his eyes rested on Maldar, and he realized that he was again in the clutches of his remorseless foe, and that the men around him belonged to the dreaded Khouan tribe. He was unbound; nothing restrained his movements and not a single guard was watching over him. His fear vanished with his bewilderment and gave place to heroic resolution.
Once in the desert he slackened the pace of his Arab steed and the Khouans imitated his example. The party rode on for several miles when they arrived at a small oasis, covered with tall palm trees, that resembled an island of verdure amid the far-reaching waste of arid sand. There Maldar gave the order to dismount.
If he could mount one of the Khouans' horses and escape from the hands of his fanatical foes, he might meet them. Esperance stole cautiously toward an Arab courser, but he had not taken a dozen steps when Maldar awoke, leaped to his feet, ran to him and laid an iron hand upon his shoulder.
"Who are you, who comes here as an enemy?" "Let us not fight with words," replied Monte-Cristo. "It was your people who first attacked us." "Blood has flowed," replied Maldar, coldly; "and it falls back upon your head." "Your people have made prisoners; sneakingly surprised people at night and carried them away. What have you done with these prisoners?" "They are dead." "All?" "All!"
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