The Count of Monte Cristo

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when a slight noise like a stifled sigh reached his ear. He turned his
head, looked around him, and saw no one; but the sound was repeated
distinctly enough to convince him of its reality.

He arose, and quietly opening the door of the drawing-room, saw Haidee,
who had fallen on a chair, with her arms hanging down and her beautiful
head thrown back. She had been standing at the door, to prevent his
going out without seeing her, until sleep, which the young cannot
resist, had overpowered her frame, wearied as she was with watching. The
noise of the door did not awaken her, and Monte Cristo gazed at her with
affectionate regret. "She remembered that she had a son," said he; "and
I forgot I had a daughter." Then, shaking his head sorrowfully, "Poor
Haidee," said he; "she wished to see me, to speak to me; she has feared
or guessed something. Oh, I cannot go without taking leave of her; I
cannot die without confiding her to some one." He quietly regained his
seat, and wrote under the other lines:--