"Remember," Monte Cristo said firmly, "no direct questions. If you want to know something, ask me, and I’ll ask her."
Ali returned and pulled back the tapestry covering the doorway, signaling they could enter.
"Let’s go," Monte Cristo said.
Albert quickly fixed his hair and smoothed his mustache before following the Count into the inner chambers. Guards stood at attention as they passed through.
Haydée waited in her reception room, seated on a plush sofa with her legs folded beneath her in the traditional Eastern style. Rich fabrics surrounded her like a nest. Her instrument lay nearby, elegant and clearly expensive. When she saw Monte Cristo, she rose with a smile that radiated both devotion and love, raising his hand to her lips in greeting.
Albert froze in the doorway, completely stunned. He’d never seen such beauty, the kind that seemed impossible to someone from a northern country.
"Who have you brought?" Haydée asked in Greek. "A friend, a brother, an acquaintance, or an enemy?"
"A friend," Monte Cristo replied in the same language.
"Count Albert. The man I rescued from bandits in Rome."
"What language should I use with him?"
Monte Cristo turned to Albert. "Do you know Greek?"
"Unfortunately, no," Albert admitted. "Ancient or modern, I was a terrible student."
"Then I’ll speak French or Italian, if my lord permits," Haydée said, showing she’d understood their exchange perfectly.
Monte Cristo considered for a moment. "Italian."
Turning to Albert, he added, "It’s unfortunate you don’t speak Greek, Haydée is fluent in both ancient and modern dialects. Italian won’t do her abilities justice."
He nodded to Haydée, who addressed Albert directly. "Sir, you are most welcome as my lord and master’s friend."
Her Italian was flawless, with a soft accent that made every word sound musical. She gestured for Ali to bring coffee and pipes, then beckoned Albert closer once the servant had left.
Monte Cristo and Albert sat at a small table decorated with music sheets, drawings, and flowers. Ali returned with coffee and pipes. When he offered one to Albert, the young man hesitated.
"Take it," the Count urged. "Haydée is quite sophisticated, she finds regular cigars unpleasant, but Eastern tobacco is different. It’s more like a perfume."
Ali departed. The coffee was served with sugar on the side for Albert, while Monte Cristo and Haydée drank theirs black in the traditional style. Haydée lifted her delicate cup with graceful fingers, sipping like a child enjoying a favorite treat.
Two servants entered with trays of ices and sherbet, placing them on side tables.
"My dear host, and signora," Albert said in Italian, "please forgive me if I seem stunned. I’m completely overwhelmed. Just minutes ago, I was in the heart of Paris, hearing street vendors and buses. Now I feel transported to the East, not as I’ve seen it, but as I’ve dreamed it. If only I spoke Greek! Your conversation combined with this magical setting would create an evening I’d never forget."
"I speak enough Italian to converse with you, sir," Haydée replied calmly. "And if you appreciate Eastern culture, I’ll do my best to make your time here memorable."
"What should I talk to her about?" Albert whispered to Monte Cristo.
"Whatever you like. Her homeland, her childhood memories. Or you could discuss Rome, Naples, Florence."
"No, no," Albert said. "What’s the point of meeting someone from Greece if I just chat like I would with anyone from Paris? I want to hear about the East."
"Perfect, that’s her favorite subject."
Albert turned to Haydée. "How old were you when you left Greece, signora?"
"I was five years old."
"Do you remember it?"
"When I close my eyes, I see everything clearly. The mind remembers even when the body forgets. The mind never forgets."
"How far back do your memories go?"
"I could barely walk when my mother, Vasiliki, which means ’royal,’" she said with a proud tilt of her head, "took my hand. We filled our purse with all the money we had, covered ourselves with veils, and went out to collect donations for prisoners. We said, ’Those who give to the poor, give to God.’ When our purse was full, we returned to the palace and sent everything to the prison, without telling my father. The money was divided among the prisoners."
"How old were you then?"
"You remember things from when you were three?" Albert asked, amazed.
"Count," Albert said quietly to Monte Cristo, "could she tell me more about her history? I know I can’t mention my father, but maybe she’ll mention him naturally as she talks. I’d love to hear his name spoken by such beautiful lips."
Monte Cristo turned to Haydée and said in Greek, his expression commanding absolute attention, "Tell him about your father’s fate, but don’t mention the traitor’s name or the betrayal."
Haydée’s expression dimmed with sadness.
"What did you say?" Albert asked.
"I reminded her that you’re a friend, she can speak freely."
"So," Albert continued, "collecting for prisoners is your first memory. What’s your next one?"
"I remember sitting by a lake, shaded by old trees whose branches reflected in the water like a mirror. My father reclined on cushions beneath the oldest, thickest tree. My mother sat at his feet, and I played with his long white beard that reached his belt, or with the jeweled handle of his sword. Sometimes men would approach and speak to him. I never paid attention to their words, but he always replied the same way: either ’Kill’ or ’Pardon.’"
"It’s surreal," Albert murmured, "hearing such things from someone who actually lived them. I have to keep reminding myself this isn’t fiction, it’s real. How does France seem to you after growing up in such an enchanted world?" New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on noᴠelfire.net
"I think France is beautiful," Haydée said thoughtfully. "But I see it clearly with adult eyes, as it truly is. My homeland though, I can only see through my childhood memories. It always appears wrapped in light or shadow, depending on whether my memories are happy or sad."
"So young," Albert said, forgetting the Count’s warning about not questioning her directly, "how could you possibly know real suffering?"
Haydée glanced at Monte Cristo, who made a subtle gesture and murmured, "Continue."
"Nothing leaves a deeper mark than childhood memories," she said softly. "Except for those two scenes I just described, all my earliest memories are filled with profound sadness."