"Of the evil you have done," said the voice.
"Oh, yes! oh, yes! I do indeed repent." And he struck his breast with his emaciated fist.
"Then I forgive you," said the man, dropping his cloak, and advancing to the light.
"The Count of Monte-Cristo!" said Danglars, more pale from terror than he had been just before from hunger and misery.
"You are mistaken-I am not the Count of Monte-Cristo!"
"Then who are you?"
"I am he whom you sold and dishonored—I am he whose betrothed you prostituted—I am he upon whom you trampled that you might raise yourself to fortune—I am he whose father you condemned to die of hunger—I am he whom you also condemned to starvation, and who yet forgives you, because he hopes to be forgiven—I am Edmond Dantès!"
Danglars uttered a cry and fell prostrate.
"Rise," said the count, "your life is safe; the same good fortune has not happened to your accomplices—one is mad, the other dead. Keep the fifty thousand francs you have left—I give them to you. The five millions you robbed from the hospitals has been restored to them by an unknown hand. And now eat and drink; I will entertain you to-night. Vampa, when this man is satisfied, let him be free."
Danglars remained prostrate while the count withdrew; when he raised his head he saw nothing more than a kind of shadow disappearing in the passage, before which the bandits bowed.
According to the count's directions, Danglars was waited on by Vampa, who brought him the best wine and fruits of Italy; then, having conducted him to the road, and pointed to his post-chaise, he left him leaning against a tree. He remained there all night, not knowing where he was. When daylight dawned, he saw that he was near a stream; he was thirsty, and dragged himself toward it. As he stooped down to drink, he perceived that his hair had become quite white.
