lenged by a boy, who will glory in my pardon as in a victory—you do not suppose I can for one moment wish to live. What I most loved after you, Mercédès, was myself, my dignity, and that strength which rendered me superior to other men; that strength was my life. With one word you have crushed it, and I die."
"But the duel will not take place, Edmond, since you forgive?"
"It will take place," said Monte-Cristo, in a most solemn tone; "but instead of your son's blood which will stain the ground, mine will flow."
Mercédès shrieked, and sprang toward Monte-Cristo, but suddenly stopping: "Edmond," said she, "there is a God above us, since you live, and since I have seen you again; I trust to him from my heart. While waiting his assistance I trust to your word; you have said my son should live, have you not?"
"Yes, madame, he shall live," said Monte-Cristo, surprised that, without more emotion, Mercédès had accepted the heroic sacrifice he made for her. Mercédès extended her hand to the count.
"Edmond," said she, and her eyes were wet with tears while looking at him to whom she spoke, "how noble it is of you, how great the action you have just performed; how sublime to have taken pity on a poor woman who offered herself to you with every chance against her! Alas! I am grown old with grief more than with years, and cannot now remind my Edmond by a smile, or by a look, of that Mercédès whom he once spent so many hours in contemplating. Ah! believe me, Edmond, I told you, I too had suffered much; I repeat it, it is melancholy to pass one's life without having one joy to recall, without preserving a single hope; but that proves that all is not yet over. No; it is not finished, I feel it by what remains in my heart. Oh! I repeat it, Edmond; what you have just done is beautiful—it is grand, it is sublime."
"Do you say so, now, Mercédès, and what would you say if you knew the extent of the sacrifice I make to you? Suppose the Creator, after having made the world and vivified chaos, had stopped at the end of one-third of his work, in order to spare an angel the tears which the crimes of man would one day evoke from heavenly eyes; suppose that when all was prepared, ready, quickened, God at the time when he saw his work was good had extinguished the sun and kicked aside the earth into endless night, then you might have some idea of my sacrifice. But, no, no, you cannot imagine what I lose in sacrificing my life at this moment."
Mercédès looked at the count with an air which depicted at the same time her astonishment, her admiration, and her gratitude. Monte-Cristo pressed his forehead on his burning hands, as if his brain could no longer bear alone the weight of its thoughts.
