tears on my face, and his were not the only tears shed, for many
who witnessed our meeting wept also." Monte Cristo gently smiled
and said, — "I was there;" at the same time pointing to the corner
of a street. As he spoke, and in the very direction he indicated, a
groan, expressive of bitter grief, was heard, and a woman was seen
waving her hand to a passenger on board the vessel about to sail.
Monte Cristo looked at her with an emotion that must have been
remarked by Morrel had not his eyes been fixed on the vessel.
"Oh, heavens!" exclaimed Morrel, "I do not deceive myself — that
young man who is waving his hat, that youth in the uniform of a
lieutenant, is Albert de Morcerf!"
"Yes," said Monte Cristo, "I recognized him."
"How so? — you were looking the other way." the count smiled, as
he was in the habit of doing when he did not want to make any
reply, and he again turned towards the veiled woman, who soon
disappeared at the corner of the street. Turning to his friend, —
"Dear Maximilian," said the count, "have you nothing to do in this
land?"
"I have to weep over the grave of my father," replied Morrel in
a broken voice.
"Well, then, go, — wait for me there, and I will soon join
you."
"You leave me, then?"
"Yes; I also have a pious visit to pay."
Morrel allowed his hand to fall into that which the count
extended to him; then with an inexpressibly sorrowful inclination
of the head he quitted the count and bent his steps to the east of
the city. Monte Cristo remained on the same spot until Maximilian
was out of sight; he then walked slowly towards the Allees de
Meillan to seek out a small house with which our readers were made
familiar at the beginning of this story. It yet stood, under the
shade of the fine avenue of lime-trees, which forms one of the most
frequent walks of the idlers of Marseilles, covered by an immense
vine, which spreads its aged and blackened branches over the stone
front, burnt yellow by the ardent sun of the south. Two stone stepsfront, burnt yellow by the ardent sun of the south. Two stone steps
worn away by the friction of many feet led to the door, which was
made of three planks; the door had never been painted or varnished,
so great cracks yawned in it during the dry season to close again
when the rains came on. The house, with all its crumbling antiquity
and apparent misery, was yet cheerful and picturesque, and was the
same that old Dantes formerly inhabited — the only difference being
that the old man occupied merely the garret, while the whole house
was now placed at the command of Mercedes by the count.
The woman whom the count had seen leave the ship with so much
regret entered this house; she had scarcely closed the door after
her when Monte Cristo appeared at the corner of a street, so that
he found and lost her again almost at the same instant. The worn
out steps were old acquaintances of his; he knew better than any
one else how to open that weather-beaten door with the large headed
nail which served to raise the latch within. He entered without
knocking, or giving any other intimation of his presence, as if he
had been a friend or the master of the place. At the end of a
passage paved with bricks, was a little garden, bathed in sunshine,
and rich in warmth and light. In this garden Mercedes had found, at
the place indicated by the count, the sum of money which he,
through a sense of delicacy, had described as having been placed
there twenty-four years previously. The trees of the garden were
easily seen from the steps of the street-door. Monte Cristo, on
stepping into the house, heard a sigh that was almost a deep sob;
he looked in the direction whence it came, and there under an arbor
of Virginia jessamine,* with its thick foliage and beautiful long
purple flowers, he saw Mercedes seated, with her head bowed, and
weeping bitterly. She had raised her veil, and with her face hidden
by her hands was giving free scope to the sighs and tears which had
been so long restrained by the presence of her son. Monte Cristobeen so long restrained by the presence of her son. Monte Cristo
advanced a few steps, which were heard on the gravel. Mercedes
raised her head, and uttered a cry of terror on beholding a man
before her.
(* The Carolina — not Virginia — jessamine, gelsemium
sempervirens (properly speaking not a jessamine at all) has yellow
blossoms. The reference is no doubt to the Wistaria frutescens. —
Ed.)
"Madame," said the count, "it is no longer in my power to
restore you to happiness, but I offer you consolation; will you
deign to accept it as coming from a friend?"
"I am, indeed, most wretched," replied Mercedes. "Alone in the
world, I had but my son, and he has left me!"
"He possesses a noble heart, madame," replied the count, "and he
has acted rightly. He feels that every man owes a tribute to his
country; some contribute their talents, others their industry;
these devote their blood, those their nightly labors, to the same
cause. Had he remained with you, his life must have become a
hateful burden, nor would he have participated in your griefs. He
will increase in strength and honor by struggling with adversity,
which he will convert into prosperity. Leave him to build up the
future for you, and I venture to say you will confide it to safe
hands."
"Oh," replied the wretched woman, mournfully shaking her head,
"the prosperity of which you speak, and which, from the bottom of
my heart, I pray God in his mercy to grant him, I can never enjoy.
The bitter cup of adversity has been drained by me to the very
dregs, and I feel that the grave is not far distant. You have acted
kindly, count, in bringing me back to the place where I have
enjoyed so much bliss. I ought to meet death on the same spot where
happiness was once all my own."
"Alas," said Monte Cristo, "your words sear and embitter my
heart, the more so as you have every reason to hate me. I have been
the cause of all your misfortunes; but why do you pity, instead of
blaming me? You render me still more unhappy" —