“Certainly, we are friends,” he replied; “why should we not be?”
The answer was so little like the one Mercédès desired, that she turned away to give vent to a sigh, which sounded more like a groan. “Thank you,” she said. And they walked on again. They went the whole length of the garden without uttering a word.
“Sir,” suddenly exclaimed the countess, after their walk had continued ten minutes in silence, “is it true that you have seen so much, travelled so far, and suffered so deeply?”
“I have suffered deeply, madame,” answered Monte Cristo.
“But now you are happy?”
“Doubtless,” replied the count, “since no one hears me complain.”
“And your present happiness, has it softened your heart?”
“My present happiness equals my past misery,” said the count.
“Are you not married?” asked the countess.
“I, married?” exclaimed Monte Cristo, shuddering; “who could have told you so?”