The Count of Monte Cristo

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filled with flowers that loaded the air with their perfume, stood in
the salon. Julie, suitably dressed, and her hair arranged (she had
accomplished this feat in less than ten minutes), received the count on
his entrance. The songs of the birds were heard in an aviary hard by,
and the branches of laburnums and rose acacias formed an exquisite
framework to the blue velvet curtains. Everything in this charming
retreat, from the warble of the birds to the smile of the mistress,
breathed tranquillity and repose. The count had felt the influence of
this happiness from the moment he entered the house, and he remained
silent and pensive, forgetting that he was expected to renew the
conversation, which had ceased after the first salutations had been
exchanged. The silence became almost painful when, by a violent effort,
tearing himself from his pleasing reverie--"Madame," said he at length,
"I pray you to excuse my emotion, which must astonish you who are only
accustomed to the happiness I meet here; but contentment is so new a
sight to me, that I could never be weary of looking at yourself and your
husband."