Page:The Count of Monte-Cristo (1887 Volume 5).djvu/266

246 "Yes; I paid them nothing, and yet they are gone."

"Never mind that, Maximilian," said Monte-Cristo, smiling. "I have made an agreement with the navy, that the access to my island shall free of all charge. I am, as they in civilized lands, on the free list."

Morrel looked at the count with surprise. "Count," he said, "you are not the same here as in Paris."

"How so?"

"Here, you laugh." The count's brow became clouded.

"You are right to recall me to myself, Maximilian," he said; "I was delighted to see you again, and forgot for the moment that all happiness is fleeting."

"Oh, no, no! count," cried Maximilian, seizing the count's hands, "pray laugh; be happy, and prove to me, by your indifference, that life is not evil except to sufferers. Oh! how charitable, kind, and good! you affect this gayety to inspire me with courage."

"You are wrong, Morrel; I was really happy."

"Then you forget me; so much the better."

"How so?"

"Yes; for as the gladiator said to the emperor, when he entered the arena, 'He who is going to die salutes you.'"

"Then you are not consoled?" asked the count, surprised.

"Oh," exclaimed Morrel, with a glance full of bitter reproach, "do you think it possible I could be?"

"Listen," said the count. "Do you understand the meaning of my words? You cannot take me for a commonplace man, a mere rattle, emitting a vague and senseless noise. When I ask you if you are consoled, I speak to you as a man for whom the human heart has no secrets. Well! Morrel, let us both examine the depths of your heart. Do you still feel the same feverish impatience of grief which made you start like a lion stung by a mosquito? Have you still that devouring thirst which can only be appeased in the grave? Have you still that ideality of regret which hurls the living from life to the pursuit of death, or are you only suffering from the prostration of fatigue and the weariness that quenches the ray of hope which fain would shine? Has the loss of memory rendered it impossible for you to weep? Oh! my dear friend, if this be the case, if you can no longer weep, if your frozen heart be dead, if you put all your trust in God, and turn all your looks to heaven,—let us leave aside words too narrow for the sense which the soul gives them,—then, Maximilian, you are consoled—do not complain."

"Count," said Morrel, in a firm and at the same time soft voice, "listen to me, as to a man who speaks with his hand stretched to earth, his eyes raised to heaven; I come to die in the arms of a friend. Cer-