look
forward to. For me the grave opens when I pass the threshold of this
house."

"I will fulfil all your wishes, my dear mother," said the young man.
"Yes, I share your hopes; the anger of heaven will not pursue us, since
you are pure and I am innocent. But, since our resolution is formed,
let us act promptly. M. de Morcerf went out about half an hour ago; the
opportunity is favorable to avoid an explanation."

"I am ready, my son," said Mercedes. Albert ran to fetch a carriage. He
recollected that there was a small furnished house to let in the Rue de
Saints Peres, where his mother would find a humble but decent lodging,
and thither he intended conducting the countess. As the carriage stopped
at the door, and Albert was alighting, a man approached and gave him a
letter. Albert recognized the bearer. "From the count," said Bertuccio.
Albert took the letter, opened, and read it, then looked round for
Bertuccio, but he was gone. He returned to Mercedes with tears in his
eyes and heaving breast, and without uttering a word he gave her the
letter. Mercedes read:--

Albert,--While showing you that I have discovered your plans, I hope
also to convince you of my delicacy. You are free, you leave the count's
house, and you take your mother to your home; but reflect, Albert, you
owe her more than your poor noble heart can pay her. Keep the struggle
for yourself, bear all the suffering, but spare her the trial of poverty
which must accompany your first efforts; for she deserves not even
the shadow of the misfortune which has this day fallen on her, and
providence is not willing that the innocent should suffer for the
guilty. I know you are going to leave the Rue du Helder without taking
anything with you. Do not seek to know how I discovered it; I know
it--that is sufficient.

Now, listen, Albert. Twenty-four years ago I returned, proud and joyful,
to my country. I had a betrothed, Albert, a lovely girl whom I adored,
and I was bringing to my betrothed a hundred and fifty louis, painfully
amassed by ceaseless toil. This money was for her; I destined it for
her, and, knowing the treachery of the sea I buried our treasure in
the little garden of the house my father lived in at Marseilles, on the
Allees de Meillan. Your mother, Albert, knows that poor house well. A
short time since I passed through Marseilles, and went to see the old
place, which revived so many painful recollections; and in the evening
I took a spade and du