"Maximilian, you know I have no relation in the world. I have accustomed myself to regard you as my sou: well, then, to save my son I will sacrifice my life, nay, even my fortune."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, that you wish to quit life because you do not understand all the enjoyments which are the fruits of a large fortune. Morrel, I possess nearly a hundred millions, I give them to you: with such a fortune you can attain every wish. Are you ambitious? every career is open to you. Overturn the world, change its character, yield to mad ideas, be even criminal—but live."
"Count, I have your word," said Morrel, coldly; then, taking out his watch, he added: "It is half-past eleven."
"Morrel, can you intend it in my house, beneath my eyes?"
"Then let me go," said Maximilian, "or I shall think you did not love me for my own sake, but for yours." And he rose.
"It is well," said Monte-Cristo, whose countenance brightened at these words, "you wish it; you are inflexible; yes, as you said, you are indeed wretched, and a miracle alone can cure you; sit down, Morrel, and wait."
Morrel obeyed; the count rose, and unlocking a closet with a key suspended from his gold chain, took from it a little silver casket, beautifully carved and chased, the corners of which represented four bending figures, similar to the Caryatides, the forms of women, symbols of angels aspiring to heaven.
He placed the casket on the table; then opening it, took out a little golden box, the top of which flew open when touched by a secret spring. This box contained an unctuous substance, partly solid, of which it was impossible to discover the color, owing to the reflection of the polished gold, sapphires, rubies, emeralds which ornamented the box. It was a dazzling blaze of blue, red, and gold.
The count took out a small quantity of this with a gilt spoon, and offered it to Morrel, fixing a long, steadfast glance upon him. It was then observable that the substance was greenish.
"This is what you asked for," he said, "and what I promised to give you."
"I thank you from the depth of my heart," said the young man, taking the spoon from the hands of Monte-Cristo. The count took another spoon, and again dipped it into the golden box. "What are you going to do, my friend?" asked Morrel, arresting his hand.
"Ma foi! Morrel, I was thinking that I, too, am weary of life, and since an opportunity presents itself———"
"Stay!" said the young man. "You, who love and are beloved; you, who have faith and hope,—oh, do not follow my example; in your case
