He placed himself in a winding of the narrow stairs. Here no ball could reach him. A Khouan appeared, but the iron bar with which Monte-Cristo had armed himself descended on his head with terrific force. A second and third received the same reception. Maldar, wild with rage, continually screamed:

"Kill him, in the name of Allah!"

Monte-Cristo was struck by a ball, and a dagger was thrust in his foot. But he paid no attention to it. He dared not retreat if he wished to save Spero. His arm threatened to become lame, his powers were fast failing him, and he thought all was up with him. Suddenly he heard loud curses uttered in the French language. He recognized them as belonging to Coucou and Jacopo. Thank God! they had remembered him and effected an entrance.

"Count of Monte-Cristo!" came a loud voice through the night.

Not believing his ears, the count walked to the edge of the roof, and saw a sight which nearly caused him to lose his senses. At the foot of the tower a troop of horsemen had gathered. The voice he had heard belonged to a woman, and by the light of the lightning he recognized Miss Clary Ellis, the young girl he had seen at Mercedes' house.

"Count of Monte-Cristo!" Clary exclaimed, in a clear, bright voice, "courage! Help is coming."

"Count of Monte-Cristo," came from another voice, "thanks, in the name of my mother."

Breathless, with his arm about Spero's neck, the count leaned against the wall, and he whom nothing surprised uttered an exclamation of astonishment when he looked down.

A man was climbing up the smooth wall. So interested were the count and Spero in the picture that they did not hear the stealthy steps behind them. Maldar was the man, and he had stretched forth his hands toward the boy. The count perceived him in the nick of time, and clutching him by the throat, threw him headlong down into the courtyard. The next minute the bold climber had jumped over the wall and anxiously cried:

"Count of Monte-Cristo, we must first rescue the child."

He took a long rope and bound it round Spero's waist. Then he let the boy gently over the parapet.

"Papa," came Spero's voice from below, "I am safe."

The stranger pulled the rope up anew, and said as he turned to the count:

"It is your turn now."

"But you?"

"Oh, never mind me; in case of necessity I will jump off. But be quick, we have no time to lose."

Monte-Cristo grasped the cord and was let down by the stranger. Looking up, he saw his rescuer sliding down the wall. As soon as he had touched the ground, the count went to him and, shaking him by the hand, said:

"You have saved my life, sir, and that of my son. Tell me your name, please, that I may know to whom I owe our rescue."

"I am a French colonist, count, and my name is Fanfaro."

Coucou and Albert now ran up to the count.

"The gentleman is evidently a monkey?" he asked the Zouave.

Fanfaro laughed.

Mademoiselle Clary now approached the count.

"How thankful I am," she said, "to have arrived so opportunely."

"And what brought you here?" asked the count.

"I swore to follow you," replied Clary, blushing, "but was delayed so many times, that I gave up all hope of rescuing your son. Fortunately I came across Monsieur Fanfaro. To him belongs the credit and—"

"And now, I thank God, the matter is over," interrupted Madame Caraman.

"And it was for me, count, that you incurred all these dangers?" asked Albert.

Monte-Cristo looked tenderly at the young man.

"I thank God I found you," he said, extending his arms to the young man.

"And now," Albert said, "let me present you to my other rescuer."

Gratillet advanced and, bowing gracefully, said:

"Count, excuse me, please, if my clothes are not exactly fashionable, but we have had no time to make our toilet."

Albert and the journalist, instead of having fallen down a precipice, had fallen into a lake. When Monte-Cristo heard Gratillet's name, he uttered a cry of surprise.

"Monsieur Gratillet," he said, "are you not a friend of Beauchamp?"

"Yes, his friend and reporter."

"But where is Jacopo?" asked the count, looking about for the Corsican.

"Jacopo is dead," said the Zouave; "a bullet shot him through the heart."

Monte-Cristo hurried with Coucou and Albert to the spot where Jacopo had fallen. Suddenly he struck his forehead.

"What has become of Medje?" he asked.

"Medje?" asked Albert.

"Yes, she brought us here, and—merciful Heaven! here she lies," the count exclaimed.

Medje was lying motionless on the ground, with a dagger wound in the shoulder.

"Poor Medje!" said Albert.

"Little father," whispered Medje when she had regained consciousness.

She stroked Albert's hand. Then her dark eyelashes closed over her eyes. Medje was dead.