The count again refused. "What, again?" she exclaimed, in so plaintive an accent that it seemed to stifle a sob; "really, you pain me."A long silence followed; the peach, like the grapes, fell to the ground. "Count," added Mercedes with a supplicating glance, "there is a beautiful Arabian custom, which makes eternal friends of those who have together eaten bread and salt under the same roof." I know it, madame," replied the count; "but we are in France, and not in Arabia, and in France eternal friendships are as rare as the custom of dividing bread and salt with one another." But," said the countess, breathlessly, with her eyes fixed on Monte Cristo, whose arm she convulsively pressed with both hands, "we are friends, are we not?"The count became pale as death, the blood rushed to his heart, and then again rising, dyed his cheeks with crimson; his eyes swam like those of a man suddenly dazzled. "Certainly, we are friends," he replied; "why should we not be?" The answer was so little. Red hearts were sewn onto it but the words ‘ You are the Love of my life’ were embroidered into it wrapping around her leg. As we both stood she noticed I had tears in my eyes Diane smiled. With the love I have seen in her eyes all night she looked at me and said ‘ You are the love of my life and the only man I want for the rest of my life’ . Looking deeply into each others eyes she removed my bow tie and without breaking our gaze she unbuttoned my shirt and sleeves. Since my shoes were like loafers I took them off while Diane was busy with my shirt. She pushed my shirt off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then slid her hands down my bare chest till she found my belt and unhooked it, unhooked my pants and unzipped my fly and let the pants fall to the floor to join my shirt. I stood before the goddess I married in my boxers and socks. Diane stood back and this time it was her time to cry. I wore a pair of sheer white boxers with the words ‘ For your eyes only my love’.
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