"Mercédès," said the count, "I do not say it to blame you, but you made an unnecessary sacrifice in relinquishing the whole of the fortune amassed by M. de Morcerf; half of it, at least, by right belonged to you, in virtue of your vigilance and economy."
"I perceive what you are intending to propose to me, but I cannot accept it, Edmond—my son would not permit it."
"Nothing shall be done without the full approbation of Albert de Morcerf. I will make myself acquainted with his intentions, and will submit to them. But if he be willing to accept my offers, will you oppose them?"
"You well know, Edmond, that I am no longer a reasoning creature; I have no decision, unless it be never to decide. I have been so overwhelmed by the many storms that have broken over my head, that I have lost the will to do so. I am in the hands of the Almighty, like a sparrow in the talons of an eagle. I live, because it is not ordained for me to die. If succor be sent to me, God wills it, and I will accept it."
"Ah, madame," said Monte-Cristo, "you should not talk thus! God wishes us to comprehend him and discuss his power; it is for this that he has given us a free will."
"Alas!" exclaimed Mercédès, "speak not so! if I believed that I possessed a free will, it would drive me to despair."
Monte-Cristo dropped his head and shrank from the vehemence of her grief.
"Will you not even say you will see me again?" he asked.
"On the contrary, we shall meet again," said Mercédès, pointing to heaven with solemnity. "I tell you so to prove to you that I still hope."
And after pressing her own trembling hand upon that of the count, Mercédès rushed up the stairs and disappeared. Monte-Cristo slowly left the house and turned toward the quay. But Mercédès saw not his departure, though she was seated at the little window of the room which had been occupied by old Dantès. Her eyes were straining to see the ship which was carrying her son over the vast sea, but still her voice involuntarily murmured softly:
"Edmond! Edmond! Edmond!"
