At the count's question, the girl passed her small white hand slowly across her forehead, and in a low voice said:

"I am she who no longer has any family, for her family has been tortured; she has no native country, for it has exiled her; no friend, for her only one is in the power of his enemies."

"Then your name is Medje?" exclaimed the count in a sudden fit of joyful inspiration.

"Yes, I am Medje," she proudly answered, throwing back her veil and revealing a countenance of superb beauty.

Coucou now hastened up, and as he beheld the young Arabian, he excitedly exclaimed:

"Medje, commander, it is Medje. Ask her where her 'little papa' is."

Medje turned deathly pale as she heard these words.

She stretched her arms toward the south and mournfully said:

"Little papa is down there, in the sultana's dungeon."

"Do you mean Captain Joliette, whom you call little papa?" asked Monte-Cristo.

"Yes."

"And the sultana is Uargla, the mysterious city?"

The young girl shivered as she replied:

"Yes, Uargla. There he suffers and there, too, he will be killed."

Monte-Cristo waved back those around, and then asked her in a whisper:

"Why did you come here?"

"To look for you."

"For me? Do you know me?"

"No."

"Somebody has told you my name?"

"No."

"Explain yourself more plainly."

"I will tell you everything, but let these men go away."

"Follow me," said the count.

The count ordered Coucou to take charge of the dead lion, and of Bertuccio's body, which would be buried in the morning. He then gazed intently at the girl, and recognized two pale six-cornered stars in dead gold color on her cheeks. This filled him with new hope.

"Poor Bertuccio," sighed the Jackal, "he was a good comrade."

"And a faithful soul," added Monte-Cristo.

Spero came running up, and winding his arm around his father's neck, whisperingly asked:

"Papa, why could I not accompany you?"

"My child, it was a fight with a lion."

"You were not afraid? Why should I have been?"

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."

Involuntarily Medje covered her face with her hands.

Monte-Cristo angrily retorted:

"Silence. The weaker have a right to the hospitality of the stronger."

"Oh, my lord. Heed my warning. She is a witch, an accursed fortune-teller. You will be sorry if she enters the camp. She will cast a spell over camels and men."

"All the same, leave me. Medje has placed herself under my protection and I will not deceive her confidence."

The Arabian girl clung weeping to the count.

"Do not grieve," he said, "you have mentioned a name which renders you holy in my eyes."

He then turned to the Arab, and sternly continued:

"You may have your liberty if you desire. But if you have not only spoken in your own name but also in that of your comrades, tell them that Monte-Cristo, the lion-tamer, is afraid of nobody. They may all leave. The desert with its terrors cannot alter my will."

The other Arabs, who had drawn near, heard these words, and enthusiastically exclaimed:

"We will not leave you, lion-killer."

The count nodded and, addressing the Corsican, said:

"Give him double what he claims. In my home no attention is paid to magic; we honor God and laugh at demons."

He slowly entered his tent, and gazing at Spero and Medje, in a friendly tone of voice said:

"Do not be afraid, I am protecting you. Draw nearer, Medje, and answer my questions."

The young girl bowed low in token of obedience, and the count began:

"So you know Captain Joliette?"

"Yes, he saved my life, and thereby became my lord and master."

"You know who has captured him?"

"Yes, they are the enemies of my race as they are of yours. They are called the Ajassuas and fear nothing and nobody—oh, they are the emissaries from the regions below!"

"Are they masters of Uargla?"

"Yes."

"And you assert that Captain Joliette is still alive?"

"Yes, he still lives, I swear it; but he is suffering untold tortures in a damp, dark, subterranean dungeon. Oh, would I could suffer his anguish and terrors for him; he has saved me, and now that he should miserably die!"

Hot tears ran over Medje's brown cheeks, and her small hands were clasped convulsively. Monte-Cristo watched her narrowly, and Coucou's tale that the Arabian girl had disappeared almost at the same time as the captain again came into his mind.

"You love Captain Joliette?" he asked.

"Does not the weak child love its father who guides its tottering footsteps? Yes, I love him whose name you have mentioned. He is the strong trunk which gives support to the clinging vine."

"And why do the Arabs refuse to permit you to remain in camp? Your cheeks bear the sign of an accursed caste, the brand of the murderous Khouans."

Medje's face became fiery red.

"Hear me," she said, "before you condemn me. You will be just to me not only on account of your brother but also for the sake of this child."

She pointed to Spero, who had again fallen asleep, and Monte-Cristo, frightened in spite of himself, said:

"Speak. I will not interrupt you again."

"My father," began Medje hastily, "was a mighty Kabyle chief. He was a wise man and his tribe was industrious and prosperous.

"Then came the day when your countrymen, the French, set foot on our sacred shores. My father summoned his tribe to arms, and took part in the battle against the invaders. During a bitter fight between the Europeans and the Arabs a traitor showed the enemy a secret path through the defile, and, taken by surprise, my father saw himself surrounded by the enemy. Our troops had been so decimated by the murderous fire that scarcely more than a hundred remained. A marabout who was in the camp induced them to seek refuge in a cave, and hardly had my father entered it with his troops when the treacherous marabout betrayed his hiding-place to the enemy. They stationed themselves before the opening and fired in on the helpless Arabs, who were caught like rats in a hole.

"In less than half an hour only half of the number were still surviving, and the French called upon them to surrender. My father, all bleeding from his wounds, had an interview with the French general, in which he offered his own life and pledged that none of the tribe of Ben-Ali-Smah would ever again take up arms against the French. This he did on condition that his men were to be let go free. The general accepted the offer and my father took the solemn pledge; then he bared his bosom to be shot.

"But the Frenchman was a noble man, and, taking my father's hand, said that France sought friends and allies in Africa, not slaves. He did not want his life, but his friendship. We lived very happy and peaceful after that, only we were called renegades by the other tribes, and especially the Khouans, that murderous class which believes that it pleases Allah if they shed their fellow beings' blood.

"Five years had elapsed, and I was then twelve years old, when my father gave a great feast in honor of a celebrated French commander who visited our settlement. Suddenly, at midnight, when the festivities were over, and we were all lying in a deep sleep, the Khouans made an attack on our village. My father was assassinated and my mother and I taken prisoners. We were carried into the desert with other prisoners of my tribe. Reaching an oasis, the captives were tied to the trunks of trees, and their limbs hacked off by the murderous Khouans with their yataghans. My mother was one of those tortured to death in this way. Her last words were: 'Medje, avenge us, and remember your father's oath.' I swooned as she died. I was recalled to life by sharp pain on my cheeks. With a shriek I opened my eyes, and saw standing before me a man holding a white-hot iron in his hand, with which he had just branded me.

"'By Allah,' he exclaimed, 'I forbid you to touch this maiden; she carries the sacred sign.'

"All stepped reverently back, and while the terrible pain forced the hot tears out of my eyes they fell on their knees before me and murmured unintelligible words. The man who had saved me was a powerful sheik of the Khouans. I did not then understand the motive of his action. Some old women took me in charge, and I was conveyed still further into the desert. From time to time I fell into a semi-comatose condition, and while my limbs became convulsed I uttered incoherent words, which the old women proclaimed to be prophecies. Much later I discovered that they had put me in this terrible condition by means of opiates. That is how they wanted to make me a Khouan priestess.

"Finally, when I was sixteen years of age, the sheik who had saved my life wanted to make me his wife. He was my father's and mother's assassin, and I hated him. To escape his odious addresses, I plunged a dagger in my breast. I would rather die than belong to him. For weeks I lay between life and death, and when I recovered I determined to flee. A midnight attack on the Ajassuas tribe, as the Khouan caste was termed, gave me the opportunity. I made good my escape, and wandered on and on until I sank senseless from exhaustion on the ground.

"When I recovered my senses I found myself in an oasis near a rippling brook, the clear, cool water of which slaked my thirst, and the fruit of a date-tree stilled my hunger. Guiding myself by the stars I took a northern direction, hoping to find some Frenchman who had been my father's friend. Suddenly, however, I saw a panther's eye gleaming at me from the bushes. I wanted to cry for help, but I could not. The next minute I felt the sharp claws of the wild beast on my back and with a groan sank to the ground.

"I awoke under the kind care of a man who was binding the wound on my shoulder. That man who had saved me from the panther's clutches was Captain Joliette. Days of ineffable bliss followed. The captain took me into his French camp and surrounded me with every care and attention. I called him my 'little papa.' Oh, how I love him! I could place my hands under his feet. He became my teacher, and I soon learned to speak his language. The other soldiers were also kind to me and especially Coucou, who has now recognized me again. The days I spent in the French camp were as if spent in paradise. But alas, misfortune soon threw its black shadow over me.

"One night I awoke in my tent on account of a strange noise. For an instant I saw the black face and gleaming eyes of an Ajassua, then they disappeared and I discovered that the canvas of my tent had been slit from top to bottom with a keen dagger."

As Medje related this incident Monte-Cristo could not repress a slight shudder. Had not Spero had the same experience, and was not the canvas of his tent slit in the same manner? What if the same danger threatened him?

"I could not sleep any more," continued Medje, "and as soon as day came I hastened to the captain's tent. He was on the point of starting out on an expedition with twenty men. I begged him on my knees not to leave me alone behind, but he only laughed at my fears, kissed me on the forehead, and rode off at the head of his small detachment.

"The day seemed to me interminable. When night came and the captain did not return I became terribly anxious. I rushed to the outer posts and gazed fixedly down the roadway. Suddenly I felt myself thrown to the ground, a gag forced in my mouth, my hands and feet were bound with silken cords, and then powerful hands lifted me up on the back of a horse which dashed off at headlong speed.

"How long the mad ride lasted I cannot tell. Finally the gag was taken from my mouth, and through the folds of my veil I recognized the sheik of the Ajassuas, who was bending over me.

"'This time you shall not escape from me,' he declared, and the ride was continued for three days and three nights before we came to a final halt.

"I found myself in Uargla, that terrible city in whose streets blood flows in streams. I was brought into a solid tower of Kiobeh, and the fearful attendants, who saw in me a priestess of Allah, again surrounded me.

"At first I refused all food, wishing to starve to death, but I laid aside this idea, as I had a presentiment that I would still be of some service to my friend. Two days later I heard a terrible noise in the street, and hastening to the grated window of my cell, gazed out.

"I saw a sight which froze my blood with horror. Dark forms clad in long brown cloaks carried a bier made of twigs of trees, and on it, pale, bleeding, and with closed eyes, lay my protector, Captain Joliette.

"I shook my prison bars; I wanted to get out and die with my friend. In vain; the grating did not shake or give way. At this instant I felt myself pulled back, and the man who had dared to make love to me stood before me.

"'Medje,' he said, 'the Frenchman who stole you is in our hands.'

"'And you will kill him, coward,' I cried.

"'No, not yet,' he replied with a smile; 'look!'

"I did so, and saw the captain carried on the bier through the low iron gate.

"'They will put this Christian, as you call him, in a dark cell and keep him there month after month until he longs for death.'

"'And what will you do with me?' I asked.

"'Keep you for myself.'

"I then made an infamous bargain; God forgive me for doing so. I told him I would be his if he would set the captain at liberty. He hesitated at first, but finally accepted. I made him take a solemn oath, and he, in turn, obliged me to do the same.

"'Leave me,' I then said, 'and when you have fulfilled your word, return.'

"He went, and I stood at the window hour after hour. The fatal door did not open. On the fourth day I learned the reason. An order had been issued prohibiting the setting at liberty of any prisoner, and the man to whom I had sworn the oath had quarrelled with the others on account of the order, and had been killed. My hope to serve my friend was blasted. A strange rumor next reached me that a marabout was preaching immediate massacre, and I knew not whether Captain Joliette was alive or dead. I could now walk about Uargla where I pleased, and I determined one evening to wrap myself in my veil and take advantage of the strange superstition in which I was still held. The sentinel trembled when he saw me. I approached him and said some strange words which came into my head. He threw down his weapons and fled. I passed out of Uargla and strayed into the desert. Allah has guided my footsteps to you. You will save him, I feel it, I know it."

"May Heaven grant your wishes!" said Monte-Cristo, as, leaving the tent, he summoned Jacopo and ordered him to get ready to depart at once.

"Hurrah! we're off at last!" cried Coucou, throwing his cap in the air.

At this instant a discharge of musketry was heard. Monte-Cristo hastened in the direction of the sound, followed by Coucou and about fifty men. The camp appeared to be surrounded, yet, at a shrill cry, which seemed to be a signal, the horsemen suddenly wheeled about and dashed away.

What did it mean? A sudden thought darted through Monte-Cristo's brain. He rushed back to his tent. The couch was empty—Spero was not there! The terrible truth burst on his mind. The attack had been only feigned. The bandits had stolen his boy!

The strong man wept; but, as a hot tear fell on his hand, he shook his head like a lion aroused from his sleep, and shouted:

"To horse! To horse! To Uargla!"