“Indeed, I still shudder at the fearful danger you were placed in.”
“I trust you will allow me to recompense worthily the devotion of your man.”
“I beseech you, madame,” replied Monte Cristo “not to spoil Ali, either by too great praise or rewards. I cannot allow him to acquire the habit of expecting to be recompensed for every trifling service he may render. Ali is my slave, and in saving your life he was but discharging his duty to me.”
“Nay,” interposed Madame de Villefort, on whom the authoritative style adopted by the count made a deep impression, “nay, but consider that to preserve my life he has risked his own.”
“His life, madame, belongs not to him; it is mine, in return for my having myself saved him from death.”
Madame de Villefort made no further reply; her mind was utterly absorbed in the contemplation of the person who, from the first instant she saw him, had made so powerful an impression on her.