Keep the struggle for yourself, bear all the suffering, but spare her the trial of poverty which must accompany your first efforts; for she deserves not even the shadow of the misfortune which has this day fallen on her, and providence is not willing that the innocent should suffer for the guilty.
I know you are going to leave the Rue du Helder without taking anything with you.
Do not seek to know how I discovered it; I know it--that is sufficient.
Now, listen, Albert.
Twenty-four years ago I returned, proud and joyful, to my country.
I had a betrothed, Albert, a lovely girl whom I adored, and I was bringing to my betrothed a hundred and fifty louis, painfully amassed by ceaseless toil.
This money was for her; I destined it for her, and, knowing the treachery of the sea I buried our treasure in the little garden of the house my father lived in at Marseilles, on the Allees de Meillan.
Your mother, Albert, knows that poor house well.
A short time since I passed through Marseilles, and went to see the old place, which revived so many painful recollections; and in the evening I took a spade and dug in the corner of the garden where I had concealed my treasure.
The iron box was there--no one had touched it--under a beautiful fig-tree my father had planted the day I was born, which overshadowed the spot.
Well, Albert, this money, which was formerly designed to promote the comfort and tranquillity of the woman I adored, may now, through strange and painful circumstances, be devoted to the same purpose.
Oh, feel for me, who could offer millions to that poor woman, but who return her only the piece of black bread forgotten under my poor roof since the day I was torn from her I loved.
You are a generous man, Albert, but perhaps you may be blinded by pride or resentment; if you refuse me, if you ask another for what I have a right to offer you, I will say it is ungenerous of you to refuse the life of your mother at the hands of a man whose father was allowed by your father to die in all the horrors of poverty and despair.
Albert stood pale and motionless to hear what his mother would decide after she had finished reading this letter.
Mercedes turned her eyes with an ineffable look towards heaven.
"I accept it," said she; "he has a right to pay the dowry, which I shall take with me to some convent!"
Putting the letter in her bosom, she took her son's arm, and with a firmer step than she even herself expected she went down-stairs.
Chapter 92.
The Suicide.
Meanwhile Monte Cristo had also returned to town with Emmanuel and Maximilian.
Their return was cheerful.
Emmanuel did not conceal his joy at the peaceful termination of the affair, and was loud in his expressions of delight.
Morrel, in a corner of the carriage, allowed his brother-in-law's gayety to expend itself in words, while he felt equal inward joy, which, however, betrayed itself only in his countenance.
At the Barriere du Trone they met Bertuccio, who was waiting there, motionless as a sentinel at his post.
Monte Cristo put his head out of the window, exchanged a few words with him in a low tone, and the steward disappeared.
"Count," said Emmanuel, when they were at the end of the Place Royale, "put me down at my door, that my wife may not have a single moment of needless anxiety on my account or yours."
"If it were not ridiculous to make a display of our triumph, I would invite the count to our house; besides that, he doubtless has some trembling heart to comfort.
So we will take leave of our friend, and let him hasten home."
"Stop a moment," said Monte Cristo; "do not let me lose both my companions. Return, Emmanuel, to your charming wife, and present my best compliments to her; and do you, Morrel, accompany me to the Champs Elysees."
"Willingly," said Maximilian; "particularly as I have business in that quarter."
"Shall we wait breakfast for you?" asked Emmanuel.
"No," replied the young man.
The door was closed, and the carriage proceeded.
"See what good fortune I brought you!" said Morrel, when he was alone with the count. "Have you not thought so?"
"Yes," said Monte Cristo; "for that reason I wished to keep you near me."
"It is miraculous!" continued Morrel, answering his own thoughts.
"What?" said Monte Cristo.
"What has just happened."
"Yes," said the Count, "you are right--it is miraculous."
"For Albert is brave," resumed Morrel.
"Very brave," said Monte Cristo; "I have seen him sleep with a sword suspended over his head."
"And I know he has fought two duels," said Morrel. "How can you reconcile that with his conduct this morning?"
"All owing to your influence," replied Monte Cristo, smiling.
"It is well for Albert he is not in the army," said Morrel.
"Why?"
"An apology on the ground!" said the young captain, shaking his head.
"Come," said the count mildly, "do not entertain the prejudices of ordinary men, Morrel!
Acknowledge, that if Albert is brave, he cannot be a coward; he must then have had some reason for acting as he did this morning, and confess that his conduct is more heroic than otherwise."
"Doubtless, doubtless," said Morrel; "but I shall say, like the Spaniard, 'He has not been so brave to-day as he was yesterday.'"
"You will breakfast with me, will you not, Morrel?" said the count, to turn the conversation.