The Count of Monte Cristo

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just taken the oath which all men hold sacred; "who, then, are you?"
The count had watched the approach of death. He knew this was the last
struggle. He approached the dying man, and, leaning over him with a calm
and melancholy look, he whispered, "I am--I am"--And his almost closed
lips uttered a name so low that the count himself appeared afraid to
hear it. Caderousse, who had raised himself on his knees, and stretched
out his arm, tried to draw back, then clasping his hands, and raising
them with a desperate effort, "O my God, my God!" said he, "pardon me
for having denied thee; thou dost exist, thou art indeed man's father
in heaven, and his judge on earth. My God, my Lord, I have long despised
thee! Pardon me, my God; receive me, O my Lord!" Caderousse sighed
deeply, and fell back with a groan. The blood no longer flowed from his
wounds. He was dead.

"One!" said the count mysteriously, his eyes fixed on the corpse,
disfigured by so awful a death. Ten minutes afterwards the surgeon and
the procureur arrived, the one accompanied by the porter, the other by