majesty and sublimity, advanced with arms folded toward the young
man, who, involuntarily overcome by the commanding manner of this
man, recoiled a step.
"Why do you mention my father?" stammered he; "why do you mingle
a recollection of him with the affairs of today?"
"Because I am he who saved your father's life when he wished to
destroy himself, as you do to-day — because I am the man who sent
the purse to your young sister, and the Pharaon to old Morrel —
because I am the Edmond Dantes who nursed you, a child, on my
knees." Morrel made another step back, staggering, breathless,
crushed; then all his strength give way, and he fell prostrate at
the feet of Monte Cristo. Then his admirable nature underwent a
complete and sudden revulsion; he arose, rushed out of the room and
to the stairs, exclaiming energetically, "Julie, Julie — Emmanuel,
Emmanuel!"
Monte Cristo endeavored also to leave, but Maximilian would have
died rather than relax his hold of the handle of the door, which he
closed upon the count. Julie, Emmanuel, and some of the servants,
ran up in alarm on hearing the cries of Maximilian. Morrel seized
their hands, and opening the door exclaimed in a voice choked with
sobs, "On your knees — on your knees — he is our benefactor — the
saviour of our father! He is" —
He would have added "Edmond Dantes," but the count seized his
arm and prevented him. Julie threw herself into the arms of the
count; Emmanuel embraced him as a guardian angel; Morrel again fell
on his knees, and struck the ground with his forehead. Then the
iron-hearted man felt his heart swell in his breast; a flame seemed
to rush from his throat to his eyes, he bent his head and wept. For
a while nothing was heard in the room but a succession of sobs,
while the incense from their grateful hearts mounted to heaven.
Julie had scarcely recovered from her deep emotion when she rushed
out of the room, descended to the next floor, ran into the
drawing-room with childlike joy and raised the crystal globe whichdrawing-room with childlike joy and raised the crystal globe which
covered the purse given by the unknown of the Allees de Meillan.
Meanwhile, Emmanuel in a broken voice said to the count, "Oh,
count, how could you, hearing us so often speak of our unknown
benefactor, seeing us pay such homage of gratitude and adoration to
his memory, — how could you continue so long without discovering
yourself to us? Oh, it was cruel to us, and — dare I say it? — to
you also."
"Listen, my friends," said the count — "I may call you so since
we have really been friends for the last eleven years — the
discovery of this secret has been occasioned by a great event which
you must never know. I wish to bury it during my whole life in my
own bosom, but your brother Maximilian wrested it from me by a
violence he repents of now, I am sure." Then turning around, and
seeing that Morrel, still on his knees, had thrown himself into an
arm-chair, be added in a low voice, pressing Emmanuel's hand
significantly, "Watch over him."
"Why so?" asked the young man, surprised.
"I cannot explain myself; but watch over him." Emmanuel looked
around the room and caught sight of the pistols; his eyes rested on
the weapons, and he pointed to them. Monte Cristo bent his head.
Emmanuel went towards the pistols. "Leave them," said Monte Cristo.
Then walking towards Morrel, he took his hand; the tumultuous
agitation of the young man was succeeded by a profound stupor.
Julie returned, holding the silken purse in her hands, while tears
of joy rolled down her cheeks, like dewdrops on the rose.
"Here is the relic," she said; "do not think it will be less
dear to us now we are acquainted with our benefactor!"
"My child," said Monte Cristo, coloring, "allow me to take back
that purse? Since you now know my face, I wish to be remembered
alone through the affection I hope you will grant me.
"Oh," said Julie, pressing the purse to her heart, "no, no, I
beseech you do not take it, for some unhappy day you will leave us,
will you not?"beseech you do not take it, for some unhappy day you will leave us,
will you not?"
"You have guessed rightly, madame," replied Monte Cristo,
smiling; "in a week I shall have left this country, where so many
persons who merit the vengeance of heaven lived happily, while my
father perished of hunger and grief." While announcing his
departure, the count fixed his eyes on Morrel, and remarked that
the words, "I shall have left this country," had failed to rouse
him from his lethargy. He then saw that he must make another
struggle against the grief of his friend, and taking the hands of
Emmanuel and Julie, which he pressed within his own, he said with
the mild authority of a father, "My kind friends, leave me alone
with Maximilian." Julie saw the means offered of carrying off her
precious relic, which Monte Cristo had forgotten. She drew her
husband to the door. "Let us leave them," she said. The count was
alone with Morrel, who remained motionless as a statue.
"Come," said Monte-Cristo, touching his shoulder with his
finger, "are you a man again, Maximilian?"
"Yes; for I begin to suffer again."
The count frowned, apparently in gloomy hesitation.
"Maximilian, Maximilian," he said, "the ideas you yield to are
unworthy of a Christian."
"Oh, do not fear, my friend," said Morrel, raising his head, and
smiling with a sweet expression on the count; "I shall no longer
attempt my life."
"Then we are to have no more pistols — no more despair?"
"No; I have found a better remedy for my grief than either a
bullet or a knife."
"Poor fellow, what is it?"
"My grief will kill me of itself."
"My friend," said Monte Cristo, with an expression of melancholy
equal to his own, "listen to me. One day, in a moment of despair
like yours, since it led to a similar resolution, I also wished to
kill myself; one day your father, equally desperate, wished to kill
himself too. If any one had said to your father, at the moment he
raised the pistol to his head — if any one had told me, when in my