redouble my strength. Then I will go to the governor of Algeria he has a loyal heart, and is essentially a soldier; I will tell him my gloomy story. I will beg him turn his eyes now and then toward me; and if he keep his word, and interest himself for me, in six months I shall be an officer, or dead. If I am an officer, your fortune is certain, for I shall have money enough for both; and, moreover, a name we shall both be proud of, since it will be our own. If I am killed—well, then, mother, you can also die, and there will be an end of our misfortunes."
"It is well," replied Mercédès, with her eloquent glance; "you are right, my love; let us prove to those who are watching our actions to judge us, that we are at least worthy of compassion."
"But let us not yield to gloomy apprehensions," said the young man; "I assure you we are, or rather we shall be, very happy. You are a woman at once full of spirit and resignation; I have become simple in my tastes, and without passions, I hope. Once in the service, I shall be rich—once in M. Dantès' house, you will be at rest. Let us strive, I beseech you,—let us strive to be cheerful."
"Yes, let us strive, for you ought to live, and to be happy, Albert."
"And so our division is made, mother," said the young man, affecting ease of mind. "We can now part; come, I shall take your place."
"And you, my dear boy?"
"I shall stay here for a few days longer; we must accustom ourselves to parting. I want recommendations and some information relative to Africa. I will join you again at Marseilles."
"Well, be it so! let us part," said Mercédès, folding round her shoulders the only shawl she had taken away, and which accidentally happened to be a valuable black cashmere. Albert gathered up his papers hastily, rang the bell to pay the thirty francs he owed to the landlord, and offering his arm to his mother, they descended the stairs.
Some one was walking down before them, and this person, hearing the rustling of a silk dress, turned round. "Debray!" muttered Albert.
"You, Morcerf!" replied the secretary, resting on the stairs. Curiosity had vanquished the desire of preserving his incognito; and he was recognized. It was indeed strange, in this unknown spot, to find the young man whose misfortunes had made so much noise in Paris.
"Morcerf!" repeated Debray. Then, noticing, in the dim light, the still youthful and veiled figure of Madame de Morcerf:
"Pardon me!" he added, with a smile, "I leave you, Albert," Albert understood his thoughts.
"Mother," he said, turning toward Mercédès, "this is M. Debray, secretary of the Minister for the Interior, once a friend of mine."
"How once!" stammered Debray; "what do you mean?"
