MONTE CRISTO waited, according to his usual custom, until Duprez had sung his famous "Suivez-moi;" then he rose and went out. Morrel took leave of him at the door, renewing his promise to be with him the next morning at seven o'clock, and to bring Emmanuel. Then he stepped into his coupé, calm and smiling, and was at home in five minutes. No one who knew the count could mistake his expression when, on entering, he said, "Ali, bring me my pistols with the ivory cross."

Ali brought the box to his master, who examined the weapons with a solicitude very natural to a man who is about to intrust his life to a little powder and shot. These were pistols of an especial pattern, which Monte Cristo had had made for target practice in his own room. A cap was sufficient to drive out the bullet, and from the adjoining room no one would have suspected that the count was, as sportsmen would say, keeping his hand in. He was just taking one up and looking for the point to aim at on a little iron plate which served him as a target, when his study door opened, and Baptistin entered. Before he had spoken a word, the count saw in the next room a veiled woman, who had followed closely after Baptistin, and now, seeing the count with a pistol in his hand and swords on the table, rushed in. Baptistin looked at his master, who made a sign to him, and he went out, closing the door after him. "Who are you, madame?" said the count to the veiled woman.

The stranger cast one look around her, to be certain that they were quite alone; then bending as if she would have knelt, and joining her hands, she said with an accent of despair, "Edmond, you will not kill my son?" The count retreated a step, uttered a slight exclamation, and let fall the pistol he held. "What name did you pronounce then, Madame de Morcerf?" said he. "Yours!" cried she, throwing back her veil,--"yours, which I alone, perhaps, have not forgotten. Edmond, it is not Madame de Morcerf who is come to you, it is Mercédès."

"Mercédès is dead, madame," said Monte Cristo; "I know no one now of that name."

"Mercédès lives, sir, and she remembers, for she alone recognized you when she saw you, and even before she saw you, by your voice, Edmond,--by the simple sound of your voice; and from that moment she has followed your steps, watched you, feared you, and she needs not to inquire what hand has dealt the blow which now strikes M. de Morcerf."

"Fernand, do you mean?" replied Monte Cristo, with bitter irony; "since we are recalling names, let us remember them all." Monte Cristo had pronounced the name of Fernand with such an expression of hatred that Mercédès felt a thrill of horror run through every vein. "You see, Edmond, I am not mistaken, and have cause to say, 'Spare my son!'"

"And who told you, madame, that I have any hostile intentions against your son?"

"No one, in truth; but a mother has twofold sight. I guessed all; I followed him this evening to the opera, and, concealed in a parquet box, have seen all."

"If you have seen all, madame, you know that the son of Fernand has publicly insulted me," said Monte Cristo with awful calmness.

"Oh, for pity's sake!"

"You have seen that he would have thrown his glove in my face if Morrel, one of my friends, had not stopped him."

"Listen to me, my son has also guessed who you are,--he attributes his father's misfortunes to you."

"Madame, you are mistaken, they are not misfortunes,--it is a punishment. It is not I who strike M. de Morcerf; it is providence which punishes him."

"And why do you represent providence?" cried Mercédès. "Why do you remember when it forgets? What are Yanina and its vizier to you, Edmond? What injury his Fernand Mondego done you in betraying Ali Tepelini?"

"Ah, madame," replied Monte Cristo, "all this is an affair between the French captain and the daughter of Vasiliki. It does not concern me, you are right; and if I have sworn to revenge myself, it is not on the French captain, or the Count of Morcerf, but on the fisherman Fernand, the husband of Mercédès the Catalane."

"Ah, sir!" cried the countess, "how terrible a vengeance for a fault which fatality made me commit!--for I am the only culprit, Edmond, and if you owe revenge to any one, it is to me, who had not fortitude to bear your absence and my solitude."

"But," exclaimed Monte Cristo, "why was I absent? And why were you alone?"

"Because you had been arrested, Edmond, and were a prisoner."

"And why was I arrested? Why was I a prisoner?"

"I do not know," said Mercédès. "You do not, madame; at least, I hope not. But I will tell you. I was arrested and became a prisoner because, under the arbor of La Rèserve, the day before I was to marry you, a man named Danglars wrote this letter, which the fisherman Fernand himself posted." Monte Cristo went to a secretary, opened a drawer by a spring, from which he took a paper which had lost its original color, and the ink of which had become of a rusty hue--this he placed in the hands of Mercédès. It was Danglars' letter to the king's attorney, which the Count of Monte Cristo, disguised as a clerk from the house of Thomson & French, had taken from the file against Edmond Dantès, on the day he had paid the two hundred thousand francs to M. de Boville. Mercédès read with terror the following lines:--

"The king's attorney is informed by a friend to the throne and religion that one Edmond Dantès, second in command on board the Pharaon, this day arrived from Smyrna, after having touched at Naples and Porto-Ferrajo, is the bearer of a letter from Murat to the usurper, and of another letter from the usurper to the Bonapartist club in Paris. Ample corroboration of this statement may be obtained by arresting the above-mentioned Edmond Dantès, who either carries the letter for Paris about with him, or has it at his father's abode. Should it not be found in possession of either father or son, then it will assuredly be discovered in the cabin belonging to the said Dantès on board the Pharaon."

"How dreadful!" said Mercédès, passing her hand across her brow, moist with perspiration; "and that letter"--

"I bought it for two hundred thousand francs, madame," said Monte Cristo; "but that is a trifle, since it enables me to justify myself to you."

"And the result of that letter"--

"You well know, madame, was my arrest; but you do not know how long that arrest lasted. You do not know that I remained for fourteen years within a quarter of a league of you, in a dungeon in the Chateau d'If. You do not know that every day of those fourteen years I renewed the vow of vengeance which I had made the first day; and yet I was not aware that you had married Fernand, my calumniator, and that my father had died of hunger!"

"Can it be?" cried Mercédès, shuddering.

"That is what I heard on leaving my prison fourteen years after I had entered it; and that is why, on account of the living Mercédès and my deceased father, I have sworn to revenge myself on Fernand, and--I have revenged myself."

"And you are sure the unhappy Fernand did that?"

"I am satisfied, madame, that he did what I have told you; besides, that is not much more odious than that a Frenchman by adoption should pass over to the English; that a Spaniard by birth should have fought against the Spaniards; that a stipendiary of Ali should have betrayed and murdered Ali. Compared with such things, what is the letter you have just read?--a lover's deception, which the woman who has married that man ought certainly to forgive; but not so the lover who was to have married her. Well, the French did not avenge themselves on the traitor, the Spaniards did not shoot the traitor, Ali in his tomb left the traitor unpunished; but I, betrayed, sacrificed, buried, have risen from my tomb, by the grace of God, to punish that man. He sends me for that purpose, and here I am." The poor woman's head and arms fell; her legs bent under her, and she fell on her knees. "Forgive, Edmond, forgive for my sake, who love you still!"

The dignity of the wife checked the fervor of the lover and the mother. Her forehead almost touched the carpet, when the count sprang forward and raised her. Then seated on a chair, she looked at the manly countenance of Monte Cristo, on which grief and hatred still impressed a threatening expression. "Not crush that accursed race?" murmured he; "abandon my purpose at the moment of its accomplishment? Impossible, madame, impossible!"

"Edmond," said the poor mother, who tried every means, "when I call you Edmond, why do you not call me Mercédès?"

"Mercédès!" repeated Monte Cristo; "Mercédès! Well yes, you are right; that name has still its charms, and this is the first time for a long period that I have pronounced it so distinctly. Oh, Mercédès, I have uttered your name with the sigh of melancholy, with the groan of sorrow, with the last effort of despair; I have uttered it when frozen with cold, crouched on the straw in my dungeon; I have uttered it, consumed with heat, rolling on the stone floor of my prison. Mercédès, I must revenge myself, for I suffered fourteen years,--fourteen years I wept, I cursed; now I tell you, Mercédès, 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 Mercédès, 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 I thought 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 I dreamed 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 Mercédès, "but I have seen him whom I loved on the point of murdering my son." Mercédès 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!" Mercédès 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?"

"I say, since you command me, Mercédès, I must die."

"Die? and why so? Who talks of dying? Whence have you these ideas of death?"

"You do not suppose that, publicly outraged in the face of a whole theatre, in the presence of your friends and those of your son--challenged by a boy who will glory in my forgiveness as if it were a victory--you do not suppose that I can for one moment wish to live. What I most loved after you, Mercédès, was myself, my dignity, and that strength which rendered me superior to other men; that strength was my life. With one word you have crushed it, and I die."

"But the duel will not take place, Edmond, since you forgive?"

"It will take place," said Monte Cristo, in a most solemn tone; "but instead of your son's blood to stain the ground, mine will flow." Mercédès shrieked, and sprang towards Monte Cristo, but, suddenly stopping, "Edmond," said she, "there is a God above us, since you live and since I have seen you again; I trust to him from my heart. While waiting his assistance I trust to your word; you have said that my son should live, have you not?"

"Yes, madame, he shall live," said Monte Cristo, surprised that without more emotion Mercédès had accepted the heroic sacrifice he made for her. Mercédès extended her hand to the count.

"Edmond," said she, and her eyes were wet with tears while looking at him to whom she spoke, "how noble it is of you, how great the action you have just performed, how sublime to have taken pity on a poor woman who appealed to you with every chance against her, Alas, I am grown old with grief more than with years, and cannot now remind my Edmond by a smile, or by a look, of that Mercédès whom he once spent so many hours in contemplating. Ah, believe me, Edmond, as I told you, I too have suffered much; I repeat, it is melancholy to pass one's life without having one joy to recall, without preserving a single hope; but that proves that all is not yet over. No, it is not finished; I feel it by what remains in my heart. Oh, I repeat it, Edmond; what you have just done is beautiful--it is grand; it is sublime."

"Do you say so now, Mercédès?--then what would you say if you knew the extent of the sacrifice I make to you? Suppose that the Supreme Being, after having created the world and fertilized chaos, had paused in the work to spare an angel the tears that might one day flow for mortal sins from her immortal eyes; suppose that when everything was in readiness and the moment had come for God to look upon his work and see that it was good--suppose he had snuffed out the sun and tossed the world back into eternal night--then--even then, Mercédès, you could not imagine what I lose in sacrificing my life at this moment." Mercédès looked at the count in a way which expressed at the same time her astonishment, her admiration, and her gratitude. Monte Cristo pressed his forehead on his burning hands, as if his brain could no longer bear alone the weight of its thoughts. "Edmond," said Mercédès, "I have but one word more to say to you." The count smiled bitterly. "Edmond," continued she, "you will see that if my face is pale, if my eyes are dull, if my beauty is gone; if Mercédès, in short, no longer resembles her former self in her features, you will see that her heart is still the same. Adieu, then, Edmond; I have nothing more to ask of heaven--I have seen you again, and have found you as noble and as great as formerly you were. Adieu, Edmond, adieu, and thank you."

But the count did not answer. Mercédès opened the door of the study and had disappeared before he had recovered from the painful and profound revery into which his thwarted vengeance had plunged him. The clock of the Invalides struck one when the carriage which conveyed Madame de Morcerf away rolled on the pavement of the Champs-Elysées, and made Monte Cristo raise his head. "What a fool I was," said he, "not to tear my heart out on the day when I resolved to avenge myself!"

基督山先生按照他往常的习惯，一直等到本普里兹唱完了他那曲最有名的《随我来》，才起身离开。莫雷尔在门口等他与他告别，并再一次向他保证，说第二天早晨七点钟一定和艾曼纽一同来。于是伯爵面带着微笑稳步地跨进车厢，五分钟以后回到家里。一进家门，他说说：“阿里，把我那对象牙十字的手枪拿来。”他说这句话的时候，凡是认识而且了解他的人，是决不会误解他脸上那种表情的。

阿里把枪拿来交给他的主人，带着当一个人快要把他的生命托付给一小片铁和铅的时候那种关切的神情仔细地检查他的武器。这只手枪，是基督山特地定制的用它在房间里练习打靶用的。轻轻一推，弹丸便会飞出枪膛，而隔壁房间里谁也不会猜到伯爵正在如打靶家听说的那样练过。”当他正把一支枪拿在手里，瞄准那只作为靶子用的小铁盆的时候，书房的门开了，巴浦斯汀走了进来。还没等他说话，伯爵就看见门口——门没有关——有一个头罩面纱的女人站在巴浦斯汀的后面。那女人看见伯爵手里握着枪，桌上放着剑，便冲了进来。巴浦斯汀望着他的主人，伯爵示意他一下，他便退出房间，随手把门关上。“您是谁，夫人？”伯爵对那个蒙面的女人说。

来客向四周环视了一下，确定房间里只有他们两个人时，便紧合双手，弯下身体，象是跪下来似的，用一种绝望的口气说：“爱德蒙，请你不要杀死我的儿子！”

伯爵退了一步，轻轻地喊了一声，手枪从他的手里掉了下来。“您刚才说的是什么，马尔塞夫夫人？”他说。

“你的名字！”她喊道，把她的面纱撩到到脑后面，——

“你的名字，或许只有我一个人还没有忘记这个名字。爱德蒙，现在来见你的不是马尔塞夫夫人，而是美塞苔丝。”

“美塞苔丝还活着，伯爵，而且她还记得你，因为她刚见你就认出了你，甚至在还没有你的时候，她就从你的声音——从你说话的声音——认出了你，爱德蒙，从那个时候起，她就步步紧跟着你，注视着你，而她不用问就知道是谁给了马尔塞夫先生现在所受的打击。”

“夫人，你的意思是指弗尔南多吧，”基督山以苦涩讥讽口气回答，“既然我们在回忆当年的名字，我们就把它们全都回忆起来吧。”

当基督山说到弗尔南多这个名字的时候，他的脸上露出十分憎恨的表情，这使美塞苔丝觉得有一股恐怖的寒流流进她全身骨骼。“你瞧，爱德蒙，我并没有弄错，我有理由说，“饶了我的儿子吧。’”

“谁告诉您，夫人，说我恨您的儿子？”

“谁都没有告诉我，但一个母亲是有一种双重直觉的。我已经猜出了，今天晚上，我跟踪他到剧院里，看到了一切。”

“假如您看到了一切，夫人，您就会知道弗尔南多的儿子当众羞辱了我。”基督山用十分平静的口气说。

“噢，发发慈悲吧！”

“您看到，要不是我的朋友摩莱拦住了他，他可能已经把他的手套摔到我的脸上来了。”

“听我说，我的儿子也已猜出你是谁，他把他父亲的不幸全怪罪到你身上来了。”

“夫人，你弄错了，那不是一种不幸。而是一种惩罚，不是我在惩罚马尔塞夫先生，而是上帝在惩罚他。”

“而为什么你要代表上帝呢？”美塞苔丝喊道，“当上帝已经忘记这一切，你为什么还记着呢？亚尼纳和它的总督与你有什么关系呢，爱德蒙？弗尔南多·蒙台哥出卖阿里·铁贝林，这些让你有什么损失吗？”

“不错，夫人，”基督山答道，“这一切都是那法国军官和凡瑟丽姬的女儿之间的事情。这一切和我毫无关系，您说不错。如果我曾经发誓要为我自己复仇的话，则我的复仇对象绝不是那个法国军官，也不是马尔塞夫伯爵，而是迦太兰人美塞苔丝的丈夫渔人弗尔南多。”

“啊，伯爵，”伯爵夫人喊道，“恶运让我犯下的这桩过错是该得到这可怕的报复的！因我是有罪的人，爱德蒙，假如你必须向人报告的话，就应该向我报复，因为我不够坚强，不能忍受寂寞和孤独。”

“但是，”基督山叹了口气说“为什么我会离开您？您为什么会孤独呢？”

“因为你被捕了，爱德蒙，因为你成了一个囚徒。”

“为什么我会被捕？为什么我会变成一个囚徒呢？”

“我不知道。”美塞苔丝说。

“您确实不知道，夫人，至少，我希望您不知道。但我现在可以告诉您。我之所以被捕和变成一个囚徒，是因为在我要和您结婚的前一天，在里瑟夫酒家的凉棚下面，一个名叫腾格拉尔的人写了这封信，而那个打渔的弗尔南多亲手把它投入了邮筒。”

基督山走到一张写字台前面，打开抽屉，从抽屉里取出一张纸来，纸张已失去原来的色泽，墨水也已变成铁锈色；他把这张文件拿给美塞苔丝。这就是腾格拉尔写给检察官的那封信，是基督山装扮成汤姆生·弗伦奇银行的代理人，付给波维里先生二十万法郎，那一天从爱德蒙·唐太斯的档案里抽出来的。美塞苔丝惊恐万分地读下去：“‘阁下，——敝人系拥护王室及教地之人士，兹报告检察官，有爱德蒙·唐太斯其人，系法老号之人副，今晨从士麦拿经那不勒斯抵埠，中途曾停靠费拉约港。此人受缪拉之命送信给叛贼，并受逆贼命令送信给巴黎拿破仑党委员会。犯罪证据在将其逮捕时即可获得，假始信不在其身上，则必在其父家中，或在其法老号之船舱内。’”

“噢，我的上帝！”美塞苔丝说，用手抹一抹她大汗淋漓的额头。“这封信——”

“这是我用二十万法郎买来的，夫人，”基督山说，“但这只是小意思，我今天就可以在您面前证明我是无辜的。”

“这封信的结果怎么样？”

“你知道得很清楚，夫人，就是我被捕了，但您不知道那次我在监狱呆了多久。您不知道十四年来，我始终在离您一哩以内的地方，伊夫堡的一间黑牢里。您不知道，这十四年中，我每天都要重述一遍我的誓言，我要复仇，可是我不知您已经嫁给了了诬告我的弗尔南多，也不知道我的父亲已经饿死了！”

“公正的上帝！”美塞苔丝浑身发抖地喊道。

“当我在狱里呆了十四年以后，在我离开牢房的时候就听到了那两个消息，而正是为了这个原因，为了美塞苔丝的生和我父亲的死，我发誓一定要向弗尔南多复仇，我现在就是在为我自己复仇。”

“您确定这一切都是可怜的弗尔南多干的吗？”

“夫人，我确实知道他干了那些事情。而且，他还干过更见不得人的事，他身为法国公民，却去投靠英国人。他的祖籍是西班牙人，他竟会参加攻打西班牙人的战争。受恩于阿里，他竟会出卖和杀害了阿里。跟这些丑事相比，您刚才所读的那封信算什么？这是一个情人的圈套，利用这种圈套，他与那个人结婚。那个女人或许可以宽恕，但是本来娶她的那个情人却不容忍这一切。好吧！法国人并没有向那个叛徒复仇，西班牙人也没有枪毙那个叛徒，已经死了的阿里也没有惩罚那个叛徒。但是我，被出卖、被杀害、被埋葬的我，也早已受上帝慈悲把我从坟墓里救出来惩罚那个人。上帝派我来就是复仇，而我现在来了。”

那可怜的女人把头一下埋在自己的双手之中，她的腿实在支持不住了。

但妻子的尊严阻止了她充当情人和母亲的冲动。当伯爵跑上去把她扶起来的时候，她的额头几乎要触到地毯了。然后，她坐在一张椅子里，望着基督山先生那刚毅的脸，在那张脸上，悲痛和忌恨的表情仍然显得很可怕。

“让我不去毁灭这个家伙！”他低声地说，“上帝把我从死境里救出来，就是要我来惩罚他们，而我竟不服从上帝的指令！不可能，夫人，这决不可能的！”

“爱德蒙，”那可怜的母亲说，她换了一种方式，“当我称唤你爱德蒙的时候，你为什么不称我美塞苔丝呢？”

“美塞苔丝！”基督山把那个名字重复一遍，“美塞苔丝，嗯，是的，你说得对，好个名字依旧还有它的魅力，很久以来，这是我第一次以这样声音地叫出这个名字。噢，美塞苔丝！我曾在满怀惆怅的悲叹声中，在伤心的呻吟声中，绝望的呼喊你的名字。在寒风刺骨的冬天，我曾蜷伏在黑牢的草堆里呼喊它。当酷暑难当时，我曾在监狱的石板上滚来滚去地呼喊它。美塞苔丝，我必须要为自己复仇，因为我受了十四年苦，——十四年中，我哭泣过，我诅咒过，现在我告诉你，美塞苔丝，我必须要为我自己复仇了！”

因为他曾热烈地爱过她，他深怕自己会被她的恳求软化，就回忆起他当时受苦的情形来帮助自己坚定仇恨。“那末就为你自己复仇吧，爱德蒙，”那可怜的母亲哭道。“你应该让你的报复落到罪人的头上——你去报复他，报复我，但不要报复我的儿子！”

“圣经上写道，”基督山答道，“父亲的罪将会落到他们第三第四代儿女身上。上帝在他的预言里都说了这些话，我为什么要比上帝更仁慈呢？”

“因为上帝拥有时间和永恒，——人却无法拥有这两样东西。”

基督山发出一声呻吟似的长叹，双手抓紧了他的头发。

“爱德蒙，”美塞苔丝向伯爵伸出双手，继续说，“自从认识你开始，我就喜欢你的名字，并时常想起你。爱德蒙，我的朋友，不要打碎我心里时刻保持着的那个高贵而又美好的形象。爱德蒙，假如你听到过我向上帝诉说的种种祈祷，那就好了，我那时多么希望你还活着，但我想你一定已经死了！是的，死了，唉！我想你的身体早已被埋在一座阴森森的塔底，我以为你的尸体已被扔落到狱卒死尸的一个洞底下。于是我哭了！爱德蒙，除了祈祷和哭泣外，我还能为你做些什么呢？听着，十年来，我每天晚上部做着同样的梦。我听说你企图逃跑，听说你冒充另外一个犯人，听说你钻进包尸体布袋里，听说你在伊夫堡的顶上活生生地被人扔下去，听说你撞到岩石上时发出惨叫声，这惨叫声向埋葬者证明了死尸已被代替，他们又变成了害你的人。哦，爱德蒙，我向你发誓，凭我现在恳求你饶恕我的儿子的生命发誓，——爱德蒙，这十年来，我每天晚上都看到有人在一岩山顶上晃悠一个不可名状的东西。在这十年来，我每天晚上都被一种可怕的喊声叫醒，醒来时浑身颤抖冰冷。爱德蒙，——噢，相信我！——尽管我有罪，噢，是的，我也受了那么多的痛苦！”

“你可曾尝过你父亲在你离开时死去的滋味吗？”基督山把双手插进头发里，喊道，“你可曾见过你所爱的女人嫁给你的情敌而你自己却在不见天日的一间黑牢里奄奄待毙吗？”

“没有，”美塞苔丝说，“但我看见我所爱的那个人将要杀死我的儿子了。”

美塞苔丝说这句话的时候，她的神情是那样的痛苦不堪，她用十分无望的口气说，以至基督山再也控制不住自己，失声哭泣起来。狮子终于被驯服了；复仇者终于被征服了。“你要求我做什么呢？”他说，“你儿子的生命吗？现在，他可以活下去了！”

美塞苔丝发出一声惊奇的欢叫，这一声喊叫使基督山禁不住热泪盈眶；但这些眼泪很快就消了，因为上帝或许已派了一个天使来把它们收了去，——在上帝的眼睛里，这种眼泪是比古西拉和奥费亚［古代盛产金子、象牙和珍珠的地方。——译注］两地最圆润的珍珠更宝贵。

“噢！”她说，一边抓住伯爵的手，按到她的嘴唇上，“噢，谢谢你，谢谢你，爱德蒙！现在你真是我梦中的你了，真是始终所爱的你了。噢！现在我可以这样说了。”

“那太好了，”基督山答道，“因为爱德蒙不会让你爱久了。死者就回到坟墓中，幽灵就要回到黑暗里。”

“你说什么，爱德蒙？”

“我说，既然你命令我死，美塞苔丝，我就只有死了。”

“死！那是谁说的？谁说你要死？你这种念头是从哪儿来的？”

“你想，在歌剧院里当着全体观众的面，当着你的朋友和你儿子的那些朋友面前我受到公开的侮辱，——受到一个小孩子的挑战，他会把我的宽恕大度当作胜利，——你想，我怎么还有脸面再活下去呢？美塞苔丝，除了你以外，我最爱的便是我自己、我的尊严和使我超越其他人的那种力量，那种力量就是我的生命。你用一个字就推毁了它，我当然要死了。”

“但是，爱德蒙，既然你宽恕了他，那场决斗就不会举行了吗？”

“要举行的，”基督山用十分重的口气说，“但流到地上的血不会是你儿子的而是我的了。”

美塞苔丝失声惊叫一声，向基督山冲过来，但突然停住了脚步。“爱德蒙，”她说，“我们的头上都有上帝，既然你还活着，既然我又见到了你，我就真心诚意地相信你。在等待他的帮助时，我相信你的话。你说我的儿子可以活下去，是不是？”

“是的，夫人，他可以活下去。”基督山说，他很惊讶美塞苔丝竟能那样冷静地接受了他为她所作的这种视死如归的牺牲。

美塞苔丝把她的手伸给伯爵。“爱德蒙，”她说，当她望着他的时候，已经热泪盈眶。“爱德蒙，你是多么高贵呀，你刚才所作的举动是那么的高尚，对一个无依无靠的可怜女人，你仍然给予同情，这是多崇高呀！唉！我老了，变老的倒不是年月而是忧伤。现在，我不能再以一个微笑或一个眼光使我的爱德蒙想起他曾花过那么多时间默默凝视的美塞苔丝了。啊，相信我，爱德蒙，告诉你，我受了多少痛苦。我再说一遍，当一个觉得生命中没有一件愉快的事值得回忆，也没有一点希望时，这该有多么伤心，但这也证明了世间的一切尚未了结。不，一切还未了结，我从心里现在存在的情感里就知道这一点。噢！我再说一遍，爱德蒙，你刚才宽恕的行动多高尚，多么伟大崇高！”

“你这么说，美塞苔丝，要是你知道了我为你所作的牺牲有多大，你又该怎样说呢？假若那至高无上的主，在创造了世界，澄清了一切以后，恐怕一位天使会因为我们凡人的罪恶而流泪，因此会停止他的创世工作，假若在一切都已准备齐全，一切都已成形，一切都已欣欣向荣以后，当他正在欣赏他的工作的时候，上帝熄灭了太阳，一脚把世界又赐入到永远的黑暗里，只有在那时，你对于我此时所丧失的是什么，或许可以有一个了解，不，不，即使那时你还是无法体会到这一切。”

美塞苔丝带着一种惊愕、崇拜和感激的神情望着伯爵。基督山把他的脸紧埋在他那双滚烫的双手里，好象他的脑子已不能受这样沉重的思想负担。

“爱德蒙，”美塞苔丝说，“我还有一句话要对你说。”伯爵的脸上露出痛苦的微笑。“爱德蒙，”她继续说，“你将来或许可以知道，假如我的脸已变得苍白，我的眼已变得迟钝，我的美丽已经消逝，总之，假如美塞苔丝在外貌上已经和她以前不再相象，——你将来会知道，她的心依旧象以前一样。那末，再会了，爱德蒙。我对上天不再有所求了。我又见到了你，已经发觉你还是象以前那样的高贵和伟大。再会了，爱德蒙，再会了，而且谢谢你！”

但伯爵并不回答。复仇变成了泡影，使他陷入一种痛苦难受的恍惚状态中去，在他还没有从这种恍惚状态中醒来，美塞苔丝已打开书房的门出去了，当马车载着马尔塞夫夫人在香榭丽舍大道上驶去的时候，残废军人院钟敲响了半夜一点的钟声；钟声使基督山抬起头来。“我多么傻呀，”他说，“在我决心要为自己复仇的那一天，我为什么没有把我的心摘下来呢！”