The Count of Monte Cristo

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purpose, and here I am." The poor woman's head and arms fell; her legs
bent under her, and she fell on her knees. "Forgive, Edmond, forgive for
my sake, who love you still!"

The dignity of the wife checked the fervor of the lover and the mother.
Her forehead almost touched the carpet, when the count sprang forward
and raised her. Then seated on a chair, she looked at the manly
countenance of Monte Cristo, on which grief and hatred still impressed
a threatening expression. "Not crush that accursed race?" murmured he;
"abandon my purpose at the moment of its accomplishment? Impossible,
madame, impossible!"

"Edmond," said the poor mother, who tried every means, "when I call you
Edmond, why do you not call me Mercedes?"

"Mercedes!" repeated Monte Cristo; "Mercedes! Well yes, you are right;
that name has still its charms, and this is the first time for a long