Mercedes, I must revenge myself, for I suffered fourteen years, -- fourteen years I wept, I cursed; now I tell you, Mercedes, I must revenge myself."The count, fearing to yield to the entreaties of her he had so ardently loved, called his sufferings to the assistance of his hatred."Revenge yourself, then, Edmond," cried the poor mother; "but let your vengeance fall on the culprits, -- on him, on me, but not on my son!""It is written in the good book," said Monte Cristo, "that the sins of the fathers shall fall upon their children to the third and fourth generation.Since God himself dictated those words to his prophet, why should I seek to make myself better than God?""Edmond," continued Mercedes, with her arms extended towards the count, "since I first knew you, I have adored your name, have respected your memory.Edmond, my friend, do not compel me to tarnish that noble and pure image reflected incessantly on the mirror of my heart.Edmond, if you knew all the prayers I have addressed to God for you while Ithought you were living and since I have thought you must be dead! Yes, dead, alas! I imagined your dead body buried at the foot of some gloomy tower, or cast to the bottom of a pit by hateful jailers, and I wept! What could I do for you, Edmond, besides pray and weep? Listen; for ten years Idreamed each night the same dream.I had been told that you had endeavored to escape; that you had taken the place of another prisoner; that you had slipped into the winding sheet of a dead body; that you had been thrown alive from the top of the Chateau d'If, and that the cry you uttered as you dashed upon the rocks first revealed to your jailers that they were your murderers.Well, Edmond, I swear to you, by the head of that son for whom I entreat your pity, --Edmond, for ten years I saw every night every detail of that frightful tragedy, and for ten years I heard every night the cry which awoke me, shuddering and cold.And I, too, Edmond -- oh! believe me -- guilty as I was -- oh, yes, I, too, have suffered much!""Have you known what it is to have your father starve to death in your absence?" cried Monte Cristo, thrusting his hands into his hair; "have you seen the woman you loved giving her hand to your rival, while you were perishing at the bottom of a dungeon?""No," interrupted Mercedes, "but I have seen him whom Iloved on the point of murdering my son." Mercedes uttered these words with such deep anguish, with an accent of such intense despair, that Monte Cristo could not restrain a sob.
The lion was daunted; the avenger was conquered."What do you ask of me?" said he, -- "your son's life? Well, he shall live!" Mercedes uttered a cry which made the tears start from Monte Cristo's eyes; but these tears disappeared almost instantaneously, for, doubtless, God had sent some angel to collect them -- far more precious were they in his eyes than the richest pearls of Guzerat and Ophir.
"Oh," said she, seizing the count's hand and raising it to her lips; "oh, thank you, thank you, Edmond! Now you are exactly what I dreamt you were, -- the man I always loved.
Oh, now I may say so!"
"So much the better," replied Monte Cristo; "as that poor Edmond will not have long to be loved by you.Death is about to return to the tomb, the phantom to retire in darkness.""What do you say, Edmond?"