“A sort of book, written upon strips of cloth.”
“Go and fetch it, my good fellow; and if it be what I hope, rest satisfied.”
“I will run for it, sir.”
The guide went out; the count knelt down by the side of the bed, which death had converted into an altar.
“Oh, second father!” he exclaimed, “thou who hast given me liberty, knowledge, riches; thou who, like beings of a superior order to ourselves, couldst understand the science of good and evil; if, in the depths of the tomb, there still remain something within us which can respond to the voice of those who are left on earth; if, in the transformation undergone by the body, the soul ever revisit the places where we have lived much and suffered much, then, noble heart! – sublime soul! then I conjure thee, by the paternal love thou didst bear me, by the filial obedience I vowed to thee, grant me some sign, some revelation! Remove from me the remains of a doubt, which, if it changed not to conviction must become remorse!” The count bowed his head, and clasped his hands together.
“Here, sir,” said a voice behind him.
Monte-Cristo shuddered, and rose. The concierge held out the strips of cloth upon which the Abbe Faria had spread the stores of his mind. The manuscript was the great work by the Abbe Faria upon the kingdom of Italy. The count seized it hastily, and his eyes immediately fell upon the epigraph, and he read:
“Thou shalt tear out the dragons’ teeth, and shalt trample the lions under foot, saith the Lord.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed, “here is my answer. Thanks, father, thanks.” And feeling in his pocket, he took thence a small pocket-book, which contained ten bank-notes, each of one thousand francs.
“Here,” he said, “take this pocket-book.”
“Do you give it to me?”
“Yes; but only on condition that you will not open it till I am gone”; and placing the treasure he had just found in his breast, which was more valuable to him than the richest jewel, he rushed out of the passage, and, reaching his boat, cried, “To Marseilles!”
Then, as he departed, he fixed his eyes upon the gloomy prison.
“Woe,” he cried, “to those who confined me in that wretched prison; and woe to those who forgot that I was there!”
As he repassed the Catalans, the count turned round, and burying his head in his cloak, murmured the name of a woman. The victory was complete; twice he had overcome his doubts. The name he pronounced, in a voice of tenderness, amounting almost to love, was that of Haydee.
On landing, the count turned toward the cemetery, where he felt sure of finding Morrel. He, too, ten years ago, had piously sought out a tomb, and sought it vainly. He, who returned to France with millions, had been unable to find the grave of his father, who had perished from hunger. Morrel had, indeed, placed a cross over the spot, but it had fallen down, and the grave-digger had burned it, as he did all the old wood in the church-yard.
The worthy merchant had been more fortunate. Dying in the arms of his children, he had been by them laid by the side of his wife, who had preceded him in eternity by two years. Two large slabs of marble, on which were inscribed their names, were placed on either side of a little inclosure, railed in, and shaded by four cypress-trees. Morrel was leaning against one of these, mechanically fixing his eyes on the graves. His grief was so profound, he was nearly unconscious.
“Maximilian,” said the count, “you should not look on the graves, but there “; and he pointed upward.
“The dead are everywhere,” said Morrel; “did you not yourself tell me so as we left Paris?”
“Maximilian,” said the count, “you asked me during the journey to allow you to remain some days at Marseilles. Do you still wish to do so?”
“I have no wishes, count; only I fancy I could pass the time less painfully here than anywhere else.”
“So much the better, for I must leave you; but I carry your word with me, do I not?”
“Ah, count, I shall forget it.”
“No, you will not forget it, because you are a man of honor, Morrel, because you have sworn, and are about to do so again.”
“Oh, count! have pity upon me. I am so unhappy.”