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THE COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO
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"But you, my poor child?"

"I! do you not see I reserve eighty francs for myself! A young man does not require luxuries; besides, I know what traveling is."

"With a post-chaise and valet-de-chambre?"

"Any way, mother."

"Well, be it so. But these two hundred francs?"

"Here they are, and two hundred more besides. See, I have sold my watch for one hundred francs, and the guard and seals for three hundred. How fortunate the ornaments were worth more than the watch. Still the same story of superfluities! Now I think we are rich, since, instead of the one hundred and fourteen francs we require for the journey, we find ourselves in possession of two hundred and fifty."

"But we owe something in this house?"

"Thirty francs; but I pay that out of my one hundred and fifty francs; that is understood; and, as I require only eighty francs for my journey, you see I am overwhelmed with luxury. But that is not all. What do you say to this, mother?"

And Albert took out of a little pocket-book with golden clasps, a remnant of his old fancies, or perhaps a tender souvenir from one of those mysterious and veiled ladies who used to knock at his little door,—Albert took out of this pocket-book a note of one thousand francs.

"What is this?" asked Mercédès.

"A thousand francs."

"But whence have you obtained them?"

"Listen to me, mother, and do not be excited." And Albert, rising, kissed his mother on both cheeks, then stood looking at her. "You cannot imagine, mother, how beautiful I think you!" said the young man, impressed with a profound feeling of filial love. "You are, indeed, the most beautiful and most noble woman I ever saw!"

"Dear child!" said Mercédès, endeavoring in vain to restrain a tear which glistened in the corner of her eye. "Indeed, you only wanted misfortune to change my love for you to admiration. I am not unhappy while I possess my son!"

"Ah! just so," said Albert; "here begins the trial. Do you know the decision we have come to, mother?"

"Have we come to any?"

"Yes; it is decided that you are to live at Marseilles, and that I am to leave for Africa, where I will earn for myself the right to use the name I now bear, instead of the one I have thrown aside." Mercédès sighed. "Well, mother! I yesterday engaged myself in the Spahis," added the young man, lowering his eyes with a certain feeling of shame, for even he was unconscious of the sublimity of his self-abasement.