I bent over the white figure; it was a beautiful girl, whose pale, wax-like face seemed to have become motionless from fright. Long dark hair hung over her tender cheeks, and on her white shoulder the paw of the panther had made a large open wound, from which the blood was flowing.
In the meantime our comrades had hastened to the spot: with their help the captain rose and his wound was washed and dressed. I did all I could to revive the child, but was unsuccessful. As soon as the captain could move again, he ceased thinking of himself, but continually aided me in my endeavor; bending over the wounded one, he whispered:
"'I hope she is not dead.'"
"He is not the son of his father, but of his mother," muttered Monte-Cristo to himself, but in a louder tone he then said:
"Who was the girl?"
"I cannot answer who she was," replied the Zouave; "she could scarcely be persuaded to speak, and only after many cross-questions put to her we found out that she belonged to one of the tribes in the Sahara which we continually pursued. Her people ill-treated her, and she resolved to run away. While seated among the shrubs to rest herself, all at once she heard the growling of the animal close to her.
"What further happened," continued the Zouave, "I cannot tell; her wound was, thank God! not dangerous, and we took the poor child with us to the camp. Our camp was at that time at Laghouat, a small oasis, the springs of which were considered to possess medicinal properties, and the captain, together with the little one, were removed thither in sedans. Heavens! both were surprisingly beautiful—even unto this day I see this poor young child slowly lift her large dark lashes, and open her dark almond-shaped eyes. And the captain—oh, commander, his equal cannot easily be met with—he was in every respect quite different from his comrades! With him there were no love affairs, no debts; he never thought about himself, and in battle he was always at the head—a very pearl of an officer!"
A strange feeling came over the count as he listened to the praiseworthy words of the Zouave. Had Albert been his son he could not have been more proud of him. Monte-Cristo was not a man of ordinary nature, otherwise he would have shown bitter hatred toward the son of Fernand Mandego; but it appeared to him that the good qualities of the young man atoned for the faults of the father.