The Count covered his face with his hands as if to shut out the sight. Ali fell prostrate upon the deck, pressing his contorted visage against his master's feet.
"What was that, oh! father, what was that?" cried Zuleika, clinging to the Count in wild alarm.
"The subterranean palace of the Isle of Monte-Cristo is no more!" he replied, sadly. "At my command it replaced with its magnificence the rude and shapeless grottoes, at my command it has perished!"
As he spoke the rocky island was gradually lost to view in the distance, and the Haydée sped over the waves of the Mediterranean like some glorious water-fowl in full flight.