, though
without any hesitation, only waiting to press the count's hand
fervently, he swallowed the mysterious substance offered by Monte
Cristo. Then they were both silent. Ali, mute and attentive, brought the
pipes and coffee, and disappeared. By degrees, the light of the lamps
gradually faded in the hands of the marble statues which held them, and
the perfumes appeared less powerful to Morrel. Seated opposite to him,
Monte Cristo watched him in the shadow, and Morrel saw nothing but the
bright eyes of the count. An overpowering sadness took possession of
the young man, his hands relaxed their hold, the objects in the room
gradually lost their form and color, and his disturbed vision seemed to
perceive doors and curtains open in the walls.

"Friend," he cried, "I feel that I am dying; thanks!" He made a last
effort to extend his hand, but it fell powerless beside him. Then it
appeared to him that Monte Cristo smiled, not with the strange and
fearful expression which had sometimes revealed to him the secrets of
his heart, but with the benevolent kindness of a father for a child.
At the same time the count appeared to increase in stature, his form,
nearly double its usual height, stood out in relief against the red
tapestry, his black hair was thrown back, and he stood in the attitude
of an avenging angel. Morrel, overpowered, turned around in the
arm-chair; a delicious torpor permeated every vein. A change of
ideas presented themselves to his brain, like a new design on
the kaleidoscope. Enervated, prostrate, and breathless, he became
unconscious of outward objects; he seemed to be entering that vague
delirium preceding death. He wished once again to press the count's
hand, but his own was immovable. He wished to articulate a last
farewell, but his tongue lay motionless and heavy in his throat, like
a stone at the mouth of a sepulchre. Involuntarily his languid eyes
closed, and still through his eyelashes a well-known form seemed to move
amid the obscurity with which he thought himself enveloped.

The count had just opened a door. Immediately a brilliant light from the
next room, or rather from the palace adjoining, shone upon the room in
which he was gently gliding into his last sleep. Then he saw a woman of
marvellous beauty appear on the threshold of the door separating the
two rooms. Pale, and sweetly smiling, she looked like an angel of mercy
conjuring the angel of vengeance. "Is it heaven that opens before me?"