"Let it be, then, as you wish, sweet angel; God has sustained me in my struggle with my enemies, and has given me this victory; he will not let me end my triumphs with this penance; I wished to punish myself, but he has pardoned me! Love me, then, Haydée! Who knows? perhaps your love will make me forget all I wish to forget."
"What do you mean, my lord?"
"I mean that one word from you has enlightened me more than twenty years of slow experience; I have but you in the world, Haydée; through you I again connect myself with life, through you I shall suffer, through you rejoice."
"Do you hear him, Valentine?" exclaimed Haydée; "he says that through me he will suffer—through me, who would yield my life for his."
The count drew back for a moment. "Have I discovered the truth?" he said; "but whether it be for recompense or punishment, I accept my fate. Come, Haydée, come!" And throwing his arm round the young girl's waist, he pressed the hand of Valentine, and disappeared.
An hour had nearly passed, during which Valentine, breathless and motionless, watched steadfastly over Morrel. At length she felt his heart beat, a faint breath played upon his lips, a slight shudder announcing the return of life passed through the young man's frame. At length, his eyes opened, but they were at first fixed and expressionless; then sight returned, and, with it, feeling and grief.
"Oh!" he cried, in an accent of despair, "the count has deceived me; I am yet living." And extending his hand toward the table, he seized a knife.
"Dearest!" exclaimed Valentine, with her adorable smile, "awake, and look this way." Morrel uttered a loud exclamation, and frantic, doubtful, dazzled, as though by a celestial vision, he fell upon his knees.
The next morning at the first beams of day, Valentine and Morrel were walking arm-in-arm on the seashore, Valentine relating how Monte-Cristo had appeared in her room; how he had unveiled everything; how he had revealed the crime; and, finally, how he had saved her life by allowing her to seem dead.
They found the door of the grotto opened, and went forth, the few remaining stars of night yet gleaming through the morning blue.
Morrel perceived a man standing amidst the group of rocks, who was awaiting a sign from them to advance; he pointed him out to Valentine.
"Ah! it is Jacopo," she said, "the captain of the yacht." And she beckoned him toward them.
