"A few days' rest will set him all right again," he said, turning to Fanfaro, "and if we can make use of your friendship—"
"Count, what I possess is yours. But let me introduce you to the colony," said Fanfaro.
Upon his call his wife appeared, a charming brunette about thirty years of age.
"Madame Fanfaro," said the colonist, "followed me to the desert."
"This is Firejaws, the king of athletes. And now it is the turn of Bobichel, the clown."
"It looks to me like a fairy tale," said the count. "Were you really a tight-rope walker and acrobat before?"
"Yes, count, and I am the only one of us who has given up the profession for good."
Monte-Cristo gazed interestedly at the speaker and his wife. Fanfaro, as we have before observed, was a fine-looking man, and Madame Irene looked like a marquise.
"Monsieur Fanfaro," said Monte-Cristo at table one day, "I do not know who you are, but I drink to your health and that of all the other members of the colony. May God always protect you and yours!"
"Oh, Monsieur Fanfaro," exclaimed Madame Caraman, "won't you tell us your history? I am curious to know it."