The Count of Monte Cristo

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return home for a year to come, I am told; in that time many favorable
and unforeseen chances may befriend us. Let us, then, hope for the best;
hope is so sweet a comforter. Meanwhile, Valentine, while reproaching me
with selfishness, think a little what you have been to me--the beautiful
but cold resemblance of a marble Venus. What promise of future
reward have you made me for all the submission and obedience I have
evinced?--none whatever. What granted me?--scarcely more. You tell me of
M. Franz d'Epinay, your betrothed lover, and you shrink from the idea of
being his wife; but tell me, Valentine, is there no other sorrow in your
heart? You see me devoted to you, body and soul, my life and each warm
drop that circles round my heart are consecrated to your service; you
know full well that my existence is bound up in yours--that were I to
lose you I would not outlive the hour of such crushing misery; yet you
speak with calmness of the prospect of your being the wife of another!
Oh, Valentine, were I in your place, and did I feel conscious, as you
do, of being worshipped, adored, with such a love as mine, a hundred
times at least should I have passed my hand between these iron bars, and