"Haydee," said Monte-Cristo, earnestly, "do you believe in me?"
Haydee raised herself half sorrowfully.
"Do I believe in you?" she repeated, rather vexed; "are you not my master, my god? do we ask the slave if he believes in his employer?"
"Haydee, I am not your employer, and you are not my slave."
"You are my husband, my all! Oh, could you read in my soul, you would not question me in this manner. Listen. I was present when my father was betrayed and murdered—they tore me from his corpse and dragged me to the slave market, where grief and death awaited me."
Haydee continued: "Then you appeared—like a god you stepped before my tearful eyes, and from that moment I lived for you only in the world! You purchased me and I became yours—yours in body and soul, and daily I bless the hour when first I saw you!"
Haydee drew her husband's hand to her lips, and then in a low tone continued:
"All my thoughts and contemplations since then were centred in you—at that time, being afraid you would remove me from you, I was on the point of taking my own life!"
"Haydee, what are you talking about?" muttered Monte-Cristo, confused.
"In truth—do not try to deceive me—you intended to give me in marriage and bestow my hand on somebody else!"