between me and the past, there is an abyss between you, Edmond, and
the rest of mankind; and I tell you freely that the comparison I
draw between you and other men will ever be one of my greatest
tortures. No, there is nothing in the world to resemble you in
worth and goodness! But we must say farewell, Edmond, and let us
part."
"Before I leave you, Mercedes, have you no request to make?"
said the count.
"I desire but one thing in this world, Edmond, — the happiness
of my son."
"Pray to the Almighty to spare his life, and I will take upon
myself to promote his happiness."
"Thank you, Edmond."
"But have you no request to make for yourself, Mercedes?"
"For myself I want nothing. I live, as it were, between two
graves. One is that of Edmond Dantes, lost to me long, long since.
He had my love! That word ill becomes my faded lip now, but it is a
memory dear to my heart, and one that I would not lose for all that
the world contains. The other grave is that of the man who met his
death from the hand of Edmond Dantes. I approve of the deed, but I
must pray for the dead."
"Your son shall be happy, Mercedes," repeated the count.
"Then I shall enjoy as much happiness as this world can possibly
confer."
"But what are your intentions?"
"To say that I shall live here, like the Mercedes of other
times, gaining my bread by labor, would not be true, nor would you
believe me. I have no longer the strength to do anything but to
spend my days in prayer. However, I shall have no occasion to work,
for the little sum of money buried by you, and which I found in the
place you mentioned, will be sufficient to maintain me. Rumor will
probably be busy respecting me, my occupations, my manner of living
— that will signify but little."
"Mercedes," said the count, "I do not say it to blame you, but
you made an unnecessary sacrifice in relinquishing the whole of the
fortune amassed by M. de Morcerf; half of it at least by right
belonged to you, in virtue of your vigilance and economy."belonged to you, in virtue of your vigilance and economy."
"I perceive what you are intending to propose to me; but I
cannot accept it, Edmond — my son would not permit it."
"Nothing shall be done without the full approbation of Albert de
Morcerf. I will make myself acquainted with his intentions and will
submit to them. But if he be willing to accept my offers, will you
oppose them?"
"You well know, Edmond, that I am no longer a reasoning
creature; I have no will, unless it be the will never to decide. I
have been so overwhelmed by the many storms that have broken over
my head, that I am become passive in the hands of the Almighty,
like a sparrow in the talons of an eagle. I live, because it is not
ordained for me to die. If succor be sent to me, I will accept
it."
"Ah, madame," said Monte Cristo, "you should not talk thus! It
is not so we should evince our resignation to the will of heaven;
on the contrary, we are all free agents."
"Alas!" exclaimed Mercedes, "if it were so, if I possessed
free-will, but without the power to render that will efficacious,
it would drive me to despair." Monte Cristo dropped his head and
shrank from the vehemence of her grief. "Will you not even say you
will see me again?" he asked.
"On the contrary, we shall meet again," said Mercedes, pointing
to heaven with solemnity. "I tell you so to prove to you that I
still hope." And after pressing her own trembling hand upon that of
the count, Mercedes rushed up the stairs and disappeared. Monte
Cristo slowly left the house and turned towards the quay. But
Mercedes did not witness his departure, although she was seated at
the little window of the room which had been occupied by old
Dantes. Her eyes were straining to see the ship which was carrying
her son over the vast sea; but still her voice involuntarily
murmured softly, "Edmond, Edmond, Edmond!"At the same time that the steamer disappeared behind Cape
Morgion, a man travelling post on the road from Florence to Rome
had just passed the little town of Aquapendente. He was travelling
fast enough to cover a great deal of ground without exciting
suspicion. This man was dressed in a greatcoat, or rather a
surtout, a little worse for the journey, but which exhibited the
ribbon of the Legion of Honor still fresh and brilliant, a
decoration which also ornamented the under coat. He might be
recognized, not only by these signs, but also from the accent with
which he spoke to the postilion, as a Frenchman. Another proof that
he was a native of the universal country was apparent in the fact
of his knowing no other Italian words than the terms used in music,
and which like the "goddam" of Figaro, served all possible
linguistic requirements. "Allegro!" he called out to the postilions
at every ascent. "Moderato!" he cried as they descended. And heaven
knows there are hills enough between Rome and Florence by the way
of Aquapendente! These two words greatly amused the men to whom
they were addressed. On reaching La Storta, the point from whence
Rome is first visible, the traveller evinced none of the
enthusiastic curiosity which usually leads strangers to stand up
and endeavor to catch sight of the dome of St. Peter's, which may
be seen long before any other object is distinguishable. No, he
merely drew a pocketbook from his pocket, and took from it a paper
folded in four, and after having examined it in a manner almost
reverential, he said — "Good! I have it still!"
The carriage entered by the Porto del Popolo, turned to the
left, and stopped at the Hotel d'Espagne. Old Pastrini, our former
acquaintance, received the traveller at the door, hat in hand. The
traveller alighted, ordered a good dinner, and inquired the address
of the house of Thomson & French, which was immediately given
to him, as it was one of the most celebrated in Rome. It was
situated in the Via dei Banchi, near St. Peter's. In Rome, as