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The Jewess did not refuse the invitation and began Gounod's "Medje" in a voice which Von Sendlingen had room to admit had improved in tone and volumn, and would make her as worthy of the grand opera house as it had, five years before, of the Harmonista and its class.
I said to myself, "... no one could 'sentir un oranger' in this room; one could only smell Delsarte's bad tobacco." He begged me to sing something else. "Will you accompany Gounod's 'Medje' for me?" I asked him. "No," he replied. "I will listen; you must accompany yourself. There are certain songs that cannot be accompanied by any one but the singer. This is one of them!
"Forward to Uargla!" Monte-Cristo had exclaimed when he became aware of the loss of his son. Medje urged her horse close to that of the count; he noticed her, and a dark suspicion took possession of him. "Go back, you traitress!" he angrily exclaimed. "You have delivered my son over to the Khouans."
"Yes, that is the great point at issue. When the last expedition, from which the captain was not to return, was planned, Medje threw herself around the neck of her protector, and adjured him to remain back. The captain laughed at her. She had no idea what discipline signified, and, sobbing, she repeated constantly: "'Not go away, little papa not going!
"Yes, his friend and reporter." "But where is Jacopo?" asked the count, looking about for the Corsican. "Jacopo is dead," said the Zouave; "a bullet shot him through the heart." Monte-Cristo hurried with Coucou and Albert to the spot where Jacopo had fallen. Suddenly he struck his forehead. "What has become of Medje?" he asked. "Medje?" asked Albert.
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 God 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."
When Monte-Cristo had reached the foot of the Kiobeh, Medje said: "It is here." "Light the torches!" commanded Monte-Cristo. It was done. "In the name of Allah, the merciful and charitable God," exclaimed the count. Three times he repeated the words. For a time all was silent. After a while the door of the fortress opened and Maldar appeared on the threshold.
As Medje related this incident Monte-Cristo could not repress a slight shudder. Had not Spero had the same experience, and was not the canvas of his tent slit in the same manner? What if the same danger threatened him? "I could not sleep any more," continued Medje, "and as soon as day came I hastened to the captain's tent. He was on the point of starting out on an expedition with twenty men.
The captain placed his hand over her, and I was present when he said to her: "'Medje, you do not seem to have a longing for your father; if you wish to remain with us I will take you under my protection, and I will care for you as if you were my own daughter." "And what answer did Medje give to that?" inquired the count, eagerly.
"Yes, she brought us here, and merciful Heaven! here she lies," the count exclaimed. Medje was lying motionless on the ground, with a dagger wound in the shoulder. "Poor Medje!" said Albert. "Little father," whispered Medje when she had regained consciousness. She stroked Albert's hand. Then her dark eyelashes closed over her eyes. Medje was dead.
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