The Count of Monte Cristo

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The salutation was so well understood that Morrel, with the same
expression in his eyes, placed his handkerchief to his mouth; and these
two living statues, whose hearts beat so violently under their marble
aspect, separated from each other by the whole length of the room,
forgot themselves for a moment, or rather forgot the world in their
mutual contemplation. They might have remained much longer lost in one
another, without any one noticing their abstraction. The Count of Monte
Cristo had just entered.

We have already said that there was something in the count which
attracted universal attention wherever he appeared. It was not the coat,
unexceptional in its cut, though simple and unornamented; it was not the
plain white waistcoat; it was not the trousers, that displayed the foot
so perfectly formed--it was none of these things that attracted the
attention,--it was his pale complexion, his waving black hair, his calm
and serene expression, his dark and melancholy eye, his mouth, chiselled
with such marvellous delicacy, which so easily expressed such high