"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 arms?"
"No; I have found a better remedy for my grief than either a bullet or 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, like you, 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 prison I pushed back the food I had not tasted for three days—if any one had said to either of us then, 'Live! the day will come when you will be happy, and will bless life!' no matter whose voice had spoken, we should have heard him with the smile of doubt, or the anguish of incredulity; and yet how many times has your father blessed life while embracing you! how often have I myself———"
"Ah!" exclaimed Morrel, interrupting the count, "you had only lost your liberty, my father had only lost his fortune, but I have lost Valentine."
"Look at me," said Monte-Cristo, with that expression which some times made him so eloquent and persuasive "Look at me; there are no tears in my eyes, nor is there fever in my veins, nor funereal beatings of the heart, yet I see you suffer you, Maximilian, whom I love as my own son. Well, does not this tell you that in grief, as in life, there is always something unknown to look forward to? Now, if I entreat, if I order you to live, Morrel, it is in the conviction that one day you will thank me for having preserved your life."
"Oh, heavens!" said the young man, "oh, heavens! what are you saying, count? Take care. But perhaps you have never loved!"
"Child!" replied the count.
"I mean, as I love. You see, I have been a soldier ever since I attained manhood; I reached the age of twenty-nine without loving, for none of the feelings I before then experienced merit the appellation of love; well, at twenty-nine I saw Valentine; during two years I have
