many hours in
contemplating. Ah, believe me, Edmond, as I told you, I too have
suffered much; I repeat, it is melancholy to pass one's life without
having one joy to recall, without preserving a single hope; but that
proves that all is not yet over. No, it is not finished; I feel it by
what remains in my heart. Oh, I repeat it, Edmond; what you have just
done is beautiful--it is grand; it is sublime."

"Do you say so now, Mercedes?--then what would you say if you knew the
extent of the sacrifice I make to you? Suppose that the Supreme Being,
after having created the world and fertilized chaos, had paused in the
work to spare an angel the tears that might one day flow for mortal sins
from her immortal eyes; suppose that when everything was in readiness
and the moment had come for God to look upon his work and see that it
was good--suppose he had snuffed out the sun and tossed the world back
into eternal night--then--even then, Mercedes, you could not imagine
what I lose in sacrificing my life at this moment." Mercedes looked at
the count in a way which expressed at the same time her astonishment,
her admiration, and her gratitude. Monte Cristo pressed his forehead on
his burning hands, as if his brain could no longer bear alone the weight
of its thoughts. "Edmond," said Mercedes, "I have but one word more to
say to you." The count smiled bitterly. "Edmond," continued she, "you
will see that if my face is pale, if my eyes are dull, if my beauty is
gone; if Mercedes, in short, no longer resembles her former self in her
features, you will see that her heart is still the same. Adieu, then,
Edmond; I have nothing more to ask of heaven--I have seen you again,
and have found you as noble and as great as formerly you were. Adieu,
Edmond, adieu, and thank you."

But the count did not answer. Mercedes opened the door of the study and
had disappeared before he had recovered from the painful and profound
revery into which his thwarted vengeance had plunged him. The clock
of the Invalides struck one when the carriage which conveyed Madame
de Morcerf away rolled on the pavement of the Champs-Elysees, and made
Monte Cristo raise his head. "What a fool I was," said he, "not to tear
my heart out on the day when I resolved to avenge myself!"

Chapter 90. The Meeting.

After Mercedes had left Monte Cristo, he fell into profound gloom.
Around him and within him the flight of thought seemed to have stopped;
his energetic mind slumbe