his hand across his brow. He recollected the call he had
made upon him after the dinner at Auteuil, and then the
visit the abbe had himself paid to his house on the day of
Valentine's death. "You here, sir!" he exclaimed; "do you,
then, never appear but to act as an escort to death?"

Busoni turned around, and, perceiving the excitement
depicted on the magistrate's face, the savage lustre of his
eyes, he understood that the revelation had been made at the
assizes; but beyond this he was ignorant. "I came to pray
over the body of your daughter."

"And now why are you here?"

"I come to tell you that you have sufficiently repaid your
debt, and that from this moment I will pray to God to
forgive you, as I do."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Villefort, stepping back
fearfully, "surely that is not the voice of the Abbe
Busoni!"

"No!" The abbe threw off his wig, shook his head, and his
hair, no longer confined, fell in black masses around his
manly face.

"It is the face of the Count of Monte Cristo!" exclaimed the
procureur, with a haggard expression.

"You are not exactly right, M. Procureur; you must go
farther back."

"That voice, that voice! -- where did I first hear it?"

"You heard it for the first time at Marseilles, twenty-three
years ago, the day of your marriage with Mademoiselle de
Saint-Meran. Refer to your papers."

"You are not Busoni? -- you are not Monte Cristo? Oh,
heavens -- you are, then, some secret, implacable, and
mortal enemy! I must have wronged you in some way at
Marseilles. Oh, woe to me!"

"Yes; you are now on the right path," said the count,
crossing his arms over his broad chest; "search -- search!"

"But what have I done to you?" exclaimed Villefort, whose
mind was balancing between reason and insanity, in that
cloud which is neither a dream nor reality; "what have I
done to you? Tell me, then! Speak!"

"You condemned me to a horrible, tedious death; you killed
my father; you deprived me of liberty, of love, and
happiness."

"Who are you, then? Who are you?"

"I am the spectre of a wretch you buried in the dungeons of
the Chateau d'If. God gave that spectre the form of the
Count of Monte Cristo when he at length issued from his
tomb, enriched him with gold and diamonds, and led him to
you!"

"Ah, I recognize you -- I recognize you!" exclaimed the
king's attorney; "you are" --

"I am Edmond Dantes!"

"You are Edmond Dantes," cried Villefort, seizing the count
by the wrist; "then come here!" And up the stairs he dragged
Monte Cristo; who, ignorant of what had happened, followed
him in astonishment, foreseeing some new catastrophe.
"There, Edmond Dantes!" he said, pointing to the bodies of
his wife and child, "see, are you well avenged?" Monte
Cristo became pale at this horrible sight; he felt that he
had passed beyond the bounds of vengeance, and that he could
no longer say, "God is for and with me." With an expression
of indescribable anguish he threw himself upon the body of
the child, reopened its eyes, felt its pulse, and then
rushed with him into Valentine's room, of which he
double-locked the door. "My child," cried Villefort, "he
carries away the body of my child! Oh, curses, woe, death to
you!" and he tried to follow Monte Cristo; but as though in
a dream he was transfixed to the spot, -- his eyes glared as
though they were starting through the sockets; he griped the
flesh on his chest until his nails were stained with blood;
the veins of his temples swelled and boiled as though they
would burst their narrow boundary, and deluge his brain with
living fire. This lasted several minutes, until the
frightful overturn of reason was accomplished; then uttering
a loud cry followed by a burst of laughter, he rushed down
the stairs.

A quarter of an hour afterwards the door of Valentine's room
opened, and Monte Cristo reappeared. Pale, with a dull eye
and heavy heart, all the noble features of that face,
usually so calm and serene, were overcast by grief. In his
arms he held the child, whom no skill had been able to
recall to life. Bending on one knee, he placed it reverently
by the side of its mother, with its head upon her breast.


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