Oh, my former friends, my former friends!" he murmured, and fell with his face to the ground.
Then rising in despair, he exclaimed,
"The chief, the chief!"
"Here I am," said Vampa, instantly appearing; "what do you want?"
"Take my last gold," muttered Danglars, holding out his pocket-book, "and let me live here; I ask no more for liberty--I only ask to live!"
"Then you suffer a great deal?"
"Oh, yes, yes, cruelly!"
"Still, there have been men who suffered more than you."
"I do not think so."
"Yes; those who have died of hunger."
Danglars thought of the old man whom, in his hours of delirium, he had seen groaning on his bed.
He struck his forehead on the ground and groaned.
"Yes," he said, "there have been some who have suffered more than I have, but then they must have been martyrs at least."
"Do you repent?" asked a deep, solemn voice, which caused Danglars' hair to stand on end.
His feeble eyes endeavored to distinguish objects, and behind the bandit he saw a man enveloped in a cloak, half lost in the shadow of a stone column.
"Of what must I repent?" stammered Danglars.
"Of the evil you have done," said the voice.
"Oh, yes; oh, yes, I do indeed repent."
And he struck his breast with his emaciated fist.
"Then I forgive you," said the man, dropping his cloak, and advancing to the light.
"The Count of Monte Cristo!" said Danglars, more pale from terror than he had been just before from hunger and misery.
"You are mistaken--I am not the Count of Monte Cristo."
"Then who are you?"
"I am he whom you sold and dishonored--I am he whose betrothed you prostituted--I am he upon whom you trampled that you might raise yourself to fortune--I am he whose father you condemned to die of hunger--I am he whom you also condemned to starvation, and who yet forgives you, because he hopes to be forgiven--I am Edmond Dantes!"
Danglars uttered a cry, and fell prostrate.
"Rise," said the count, "your life is safe; the same good fortune has not happened to your accomplices--one is mad, the other dead.
Keep the 50,000 francs you have left--I give them to you. The 5,000,000 you stole from the hospitals has been restored to them by an unknown hand.
And now eat and drink; I will entertain you to-night.
Vampa, when this man is satisfied, let him be free."
Danglars remained prostrate while the count withdrew; when he raised his head he saw disappearing down the passage nothing but a shadow, before which the bandits bowed.
According to the count's directions, Danglars was waited on by Vampa, who brought him the best wine and fruits of Italy; then, having conducted him to the road, and pointed to the post-chaise, left him leaning against a tree.
He remained there all night, not knowing where he was.
When daylight dawned he saw that he was near a stream; he was thirsty, and dragged himself towards it.
As he stooped down to drink, he saw that his hair had become entirely white.
Chapter 117.
The Fifth of October.
It was about six o'clock in the evening; an opal-colored light, through which an autumnal sun shed its golden rays, descended on the blue ocean.
The heat of the day had gradually decreased, and a light breeze arose, seeming like the respiration of nature on awakening from the burning siesta of the south. A delicious zephyr played along the coasts of the Mediterranean, and wafted from shore to shore the sweet perfume of plants, mingled with the fresh smell of the sea.
A light yacht, chaste and elegant in its form, was gliding amidst the first dews of night over the immense lake, extending from Gibraltar to the Dardanelles, and from Tunis to Venice.
The vessel resembled a swan with its wings opened towards the wind, gliding on the water.
It advanced swiftly and gracefully, leaving behind it a glittering stretch of foam.
By degrees the sun disappeared behind the western horizon; but as though to prove the truth of the fanciful ideas in heathen mythology, its indiscreet rays reappeared on the summit of every wave, as if the god of fire had just sunk upon the bosom of Amphitrite, who in vain endeavored to hide her lover beneath her azure mantle.
The yacht moved rapidly on, though there did not appear to be sufficient wind to ruffle the curls on the head of a young girl.
Standing on the prow was a tall man, of a dark complexion, who saw with dilating eyes that they were approaching a dark mass of land in the shape of a cone, which rose from the midst of the waves like the hat of a Catalan.
"Is that Monte Cristo?" asked the traveller, to whose orders the yacht was for the time submitted, in a melancholy voice.
"Yes, your excellency," said the captain, "we have reached it."
"We have reached it!" repeated the traveller in an accent of indescribable sadness.
Then he added, in a low tone, "Yes; that is the haven."
And then he again plunged into a train of thought, the character of which was better revealed by a sad smile, than it would have been by tears.
A few minutes afterwards a flash of light, which was extinguished instantly, was seen on the land, and the sound of firearms reached the yacht.