The handsome boy now, for the first time, perceived Medje, who smiled at him.
"Who is that, papa?" he asked in a whisper.
"A friend, Spero; offer her your hand."
The boy obeyed and Medje raised his hand to her lips, murmuring:
"Son of him who kills lions, may God measure your years by the kisses which your father gives you."
Monte-Cristo clasped his arms around Spero's shoulders and, accompanied by him and Medje, approached the tent. But before he reached it an Arab excitedly ran toward him with outstretched arms.
"Oh, master, hear me. Do not let this woman cross the threshold of the camp."
"Why not?"
"Did you not see the sign on her cheek? She is accursed."