nd as he prayed he wept. Three days passed thus,
during which his prayers were frequent, if not heartfelt. Sometimes he
was delirious, and fancied he saw an old man stretched on a pallet; he,
also, was dying of hunger.

On the fourth, he was no longer a man, but a living corpse. He had
picked up every crumb that had been left from his former meals, and was
beginning to eat the matting which covered the floor of his cell. Then
he entreated Peppino, as he would a guardian angel, to give him food;
he offered him 1,000 francs for a mouthful of bread. But Peppino did not
answer. On the fifth day he dragged himself to the door of the cell.

"Are you not a Christian?" he said, falling on his knees. "Do you wish
to assassinate a man who, in the eyes of heaven, is a brother? Oh, my
former friends, my former friends!" he murmured, and fell with his face
to the ground. Then rising in despair, he exclaimed, "The chief, the
chief!"

"Here I am," said Vampa, instantly appearing; "what do you want?"

"Take my last gold," muttered Danglars, holding out his pocket-book,
"and let me live here; I ask no more for liberty--I only ask to live!"

"Then you suffer a great deal?"

"Oh, yes, yes, cruelly!"

"Still, there have been men who suffered more than you."

"I do not think so."

"Yes; those who have died of hunger."

Danglars thought of the old man whom, in his hours of delirium, he
had seen groaning on his bed. He struck his forehead on the ground and
groaned. "Yes," he said, "there have been some who have suffered more
than I have, but then they must have been martyrs at least."

"Do you repent?" asked a deep, solemn voice, which caused Danglars' hair
to stand on end. His feeble eyes endeavored to distinguish objects, and
behind the bandit he saw a man enveloped in a cloak, half lost in the
shadow of a stone column.

"Of what must I repent?" stammered Danglars.

"Of the evil you have done," said the voice.

"Oh, yes; oh, yes, I do indeed repent." And he struck his breast with
his emaciated fist.

"Then I forgive you," said the man, dropping his cloak, and advancing to
the light.

"The Count of Monte Cristo!" said Danglars, more pale from terror than
he had been just before from hunger and misery.

"You are mistaken--I am not the Count of Monte Cristo."

"Then who are you?"

"I am he whom you sold and dishonored--I am he whose betrothed you
prostituted--I am he upon whom you trampled that you might raise
yourself