ssed through his mind.
"Ridiculous?" repeated he; "and the ridicule will fall on me. I
ridiculous? No, I would rather die."

By thus exaggerating to his own mind the anticipated ill-fortune of the
next day, to which he had condemned himself by promising Mercedes to
spare her son, the count at last exclaimed, "Folly, folly, folly!--to
carry generosity so far as to put myself up as a mark for that young man
to aim at. He will never believe that my death was suicide; and yet it
is important for the honor of my memory,--and this surely is not vanity,
but a justifiable pride,--it is important the world should know that
I have consented, by my free will, to stop my arm, already raised to
strike, and that with the arm which has been so powerful against others
I have struck myself. It must be; it shall be."

Seizing a pen, he drew a paper from a secret drawer in his desk, and
wrote at the bottom of the document (which was no other than his will,
made since his arrival in Paris) a sort of codicil, clearly explaining
the nature of his death. "I do this, O my God," said he, with his eyes
raised to heaven, "as much for thy honor as for mine. I have during ten
years considered myself the agent of thy vengeance, and other wretches,
like Morcerf, Danglars, Villefort, even Morcerf himself, must not
imagine that chance has freed them from their enemy. Let them know,
on the contrary, that their punishment, which had been decreed by
providence, is only delayed by my present determination, and although
they escape it in this world, it awaits them in another, and that they
are only exchanging time for eternity."

While he was thus agitated by gloomy uncertainties,--wretched waking
dreams of grief,--the first rays of morning pierced his windows, and
shone upon the pale blue paper on which he had just inscribed his
justification of providence. It was just five o'clock in the morning
when a slight noise like a stifled sigh reached his ear. He turned his
head, looked around him, and saw no one; but the sound was repeated
distinctly enough to convince him of its reality.

He arose, and quietly opening the door of the drawing-room, saw Haidee,
who had fallen on a chair, with her arms hanging down and her beautiful
head thrown back. She had been standing at the door, to prevent his
going out without seeing her, until sleep, which the young cannot
resist, had overpowered her frame, wearied as she was with watching. The
noise of the door did not