"My friend," said the count, "I have still one doubt,—are you weak enough to pride yourself upon your sufferings?"
"No, indeed, I am calm," said Morrel, giving his hand to the count; "my pulse does not beat slower or faster than usual. No, I feel I have reached the goal, and I will go no farther. You told me to wait and hope; do you know what you did, unfortunate adviser? I waited a month, or rather I suffered for a month! I did hope (man is a poor wretched creature), I did hope. What I cannot tell: something wonderful, an absurdity, a miracle,—of what nature he alone can tell who has mingled with our reason that folly we call hope. Yes: I did wait;—yes; I did hope, count, and during this quarter of an hour we have been talking together, you have unconsciously wounded, tortured my heart, for every word you have uttered proved that there was no hope for me. Oh! count, I shall sleep calmly, deliciously, in the arms of death!"
Morrel pronounced these words with an energy which made the count shudder.
"My friend," continued Morrel, "you named the fifth of October as the term of the delay you asked,—to-day is the fifth of October," he took out his watch; "it is now nine o'clock,—I have yet three hours to live."
"Be it so!" said the count, "come." Morrel mechanically followed the count, and they had entered the grotto before he perceived it. He felt a carpet under his feet, a door opened, perfumes surrounded him, and a brilliant light dazzled his eyes. Morrel hesitated to advance, he dreaded the enervating effect of all that he saw. Monte-Cristo drew him in gently.
"Why should we not spend the last three hours remaining to us of life like those ancient Romans who, when condemned by Nero, their emperor and heir, sat down at table crowned with flowers, and inhaled death in the perfume of heliotropes and roses?"
Morrel smiled. "As you please," he said; "death is always death, that is forgetfulness, repose, exclusion from life, and therefore from grief."
He sat down, and Monte-Cristo placed himself opposite to him. They were in the marvelous dining-room before described, where the statues had baskets on their heads always filled with fruits and flowers. Morrel had looked carelessly around, and had probably noticed nothing.
"Let us talk like men," he said, looking at the count.
"Proceed!"
"Count," said Morrel, "you are the epitome of all human knowledge, and you seem to be a being descended from a wiser and more advanced world than ours."
