is either a friend who rocks us gently as a nurse, or an enemy
who violently drags the soul from the body. Some day, when the world
is much older, and when mankind will be masters of all the destructive
powers in nature, to serve for the general good of humanity; when
mankind, as you were just saying, have discovered the secrets of death,
then that death will become as sweet and voluptuous as a slumber in the
arms of your beloved."

"And if you wished to die, you would choose this death, count?"

"Yes."

Morrel extended his hand. "Now I understand," he said, "why you had me
brought here to this desolate spot, in the midst of the ocean, to this
subterranean palace; it was because you loved me, was it not, count? It
was because you loved me well enough to give me one of those sweet means
of death of which we were speaking; a death without agony, a death which
allows me to fade away while pronouncing Valentine's name and pressing
your hand."

"Yes, you have guessed rightly, Morrel," said the count, "that is what I
intended."

"Thanks; the idea that tomorrow I shall no longer suffer, is sweet to my
heart."

"Do you then regret nothing?"

"No," replied Morrel.

"Not even me?" asked the count with deep emotion. Morrel's clear eye was
for the moment clouded, then it shone with unusual lustre, and a large
tear rolled down his cheek.

"What," said the count, "do you still regret anything in the world, and
yet die?"

"Oh, I entreat you," exclaimed Morrel in a low voice, "do not speak
another word, count; do not prolong my punishment." The count fancied
that he was yielding, and this belief revived the horrible doubt that
had overwhelmed him at the Chateau d'If. "I am endeavoring," he thought,
"to make this man happy; I look upon this restitution as a weight thrown
into the scale to balance the evil I have wrought. Now, supposing I
am deceived, supposing this man has not been unhappy enough to merit
happiness. Alas, what would become of me who can only atone for evil by
doing good?" Then he said aloud: "Listen, Morrel, I see your grief
is great, but still you do not like to risk your soul." Morrel smiled
sadly. "Count," he said, "I swear to you my soul is no longer my own."

"Maximilian, you know I have no relation in the world. I have accustomed
myself to regard you as my son: well, then, to save my son, I will
sacrifice my life, nay, even my fortune."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that you wish to quit life be