The Count of Monte Cristo

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the trembling foliage was reflected as in a mirror. Under the oldest and
thickest of these trees, reclining on cushions, sat my father; my mother
was at his feet, and I, childlike, amused myself by playing with his
long white beard which descended to his girdle, or with the diamond-hilt
of the scimitar attached to his girdle. Then from time to time there
came to him an Albanian who said something to which I paid no attention,
but which he always answered in the same tone of voice, either 'Kill,'
or 'Pardon.'"

"It is very strange," said Albert, "to hear such words proceed from the
mouth of any one but an actress on the stage, and one needs constantly
to be saying to one's self, 'This is no fiction, it is all reality,' in
order to believe it. And how does France appear in your eyes, accustomed
as they have been to gaze on such enchanted scenes?"

"I think it is a fine country," said Haidee, "but I see France as it
really is, because I look on it with the eyes of a woman; whereas my own