tacles. From good-natured, confiding, and forgiving, I became revengeful, cunning, and wicked, or rather, immovable as fate. Then I launched out into the path that was opened to me; I overcame every obstacle, and reached the goal; but woe to those who met me in my career!"
"Enough!" said Mercédès, "enough, Edmond! Believe me that she who alone recognized you has been the only one to comprehend you; and had she crossed your path, and you had crushed her like a frail glass, still, Edmond, still she must have admired you! Like the gulf between me and the past, there is an abyss between you, Edmond, and the rest of mankind; and I tell you freely, that the comparison I draw between you and other men will ever be one of my greatest tortures. No, there is nothing in the world to resemble you in worth and goodness! But we must say farewell, Edmond, and let us part."
"Before I leave you, Mercédès, have you no request to make?" said the count.
"I desire but one thing in this world, Edmond—the happiness of my son."
"Pray to the Almighty to spare his life, and I will take upon myself to promote his happiness."
"Thanks, thanks, Edmond!"
"But have you no request to make for yourself, Mercédès!"
"For myself I want nothing. I live, as it were, between two graves. The one that of Edmond Dantès, lost to me long, long since. He had my love! That word ill becomes my faded lip now, but it is a memory dear to my heart, and one that I would not lose for all that the world contains. The other grave is that of the man who met his death from the hand of Edmond Dantès. I approve of the deed, but I must pray for the dead."
"Your son shall be happy, Mercédès," repeated the count.
"Then I shall enjoy as much happiness as this world can possibly confer."
"But what are your intentions?"
Mercédès smiled sadly.
"To say that I shall live here, like the Mercédès of other times, gaining my bread by labor, would not be true, nor would you believe me. I have no longer the strength to do anything but to spend my days in prayer. However, I shall have no occasion to work, for the little sum of money buried by you, and which I found in the place you mentioned, will be sufficient to maintain me. Rumor will probably be busy respecting me, my occupations, my manner of living—that will signify but little, that concerns God, you, and myself."
