Bread and Salt.

           MadamedeMorcerfenteredanarchwayoftreeswithhercompanion.Itledthroughagroveoflindenstoaconservatory.

           "Itwastoowarmintheroom,wasitnot,count?"sheasked.

           "Yes,madame;anditwasanexcellentideaofyourstoopenthedoorsandtheblinds."Asheceasedspeaking,thecountfeltthehandofMercedestremble."Butyou,"hesaid,"withthatlightdress,andwithoutanythingtocoveryoubutthatgauzescarf,perhapsyoufeelcold?"

           "DoyouknowwhereIamleadingyou?"saidthecountess,withoutreplyingtothequestion.

           "No,madame,"repliedMonteCristo;"butyouseeImakenoresistance."

           "Wearegoingtothegreenhousethatyouseeattheotherendofthegrove."

           ThecountlookedatMercedesasiftointerrogateher,butshecontinuedtowalkoninsilence,andherefrainedfromspeaking.Theyreachedthebuilding,ornamentedwithmagnificentfruits,whichripenatthebeginningofJulyintheartificialtemperaturewhichtakestheplaceofthesun,sofrequentlyabsentinourclimate.ThecountessleftthearmofMonteCristo,andgatheredabunchofMuscatelgrapes."See,count,"shesaid,withasmilesosadinitsexpressionthatonecouldalmostdetectthetearsonhereyelids"see,ourFrenchgrapesarenottobecompared,Iknow,withyoursofSicilyandCyprus,butyouwillmakeallowanceforournorthernsun."Thecountbowed,butsteppedback."Doyourefuse?"saidMercedes,inatremulousvoice.

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