Monte-Cristo, Maximilian, Valentine and the Italian physician grouped themselves a short distance away, waiting and watching. Their eagerness and anxiety were intense.
Five minutes, ten minutes passed, then fifteen. As Dr. Absalom's watch told the quarter of an hour, the Viscount all at once opened his eyes. They rested on Zuleika. The anxious interest of the spectators was now at the highest pitch. The Count, M. Morrel, Valentine and the Italian leaned forward breathlessly. Giovanni put his hand to his brow, uttered a low sigh and then sat up, gazing at Monte-Cristo's daughter in bewilderment. At last he spoke.
"Zuleika, darling Zuleika!" he said, faintly, but very tenderly, at the same time extending his arms towards her. The girl glanced at Dr. Absalom. He pointed to Giovanni and smiled. She instantly comprehended his permission and threw herself into her lover's embrace.
"Giovanni, dear Giovanni," she murmured, "you are yourself again, are you not?"
"Myself, Zuleika? Have I ever been otherwise?"
"You have been very ill, Giovanni."
"Ah! yes. That is the reason I am here." Glancing around him he added: "There is your father, too, but who are those strangers with him?"
"The physicians, and two of our most devoted friends, M. Morrel and his wife."
The Viscount sank back upon the couch and took Zuleika's hand in his, clasping it warmly.