many moments of despair. He also, Morrel, like you, considered himself the unhappiest of men."
"Well?" asked Morrel.
"Well! at the height of his despair God assisted him through human means. At first, perhaps, he did not recognize the infinite mercy of the Lord, but at last he took patience and waited. One day he miraculously left the prison, transformed, rich, powerful. His first cry was for his father; but that father was dead."
"My father, too, is dead," said Morrel.
"Yes; but your father died in your arms, happy, respected, rich, and full of years; his father died poor, despairing, almost doubtful of Providence; and when his son sought his grave ten years afterward, his tomb had disappeared, and no one could say, 'There sleeps the father you so well loved.'"
"Oh!" exclaimed Morrel.
"He was, then, a more unhapy son than you, Morrel, for he could not even find his father's grave!"
"But then he had the woman he loved still remaining?"
"You are deceived, Morrel, that woman———"
"She was dead?"
"Worse than that; she was faithless, and had married one of the persecutors of her betrothed. You see, then, Morrel, that he was a more unhappy lover than you."
"And has he found consolation?"
"He has found calmness, at least."
"And does he ever expect to be happy?"
"He hopes so, Maximilian."
The young man's head fell on his breast.
"You have my promise," he said, after a minute's pause, extending his hand to Monte-Cristo. "Only remember———"
"On the 5th of October, Morrel, I shall expect you at the Island of Monte-Cristo. On the 4th a yacht will wait for you in the port of Bastia, it will be called the Eurus. You will deliver your name to the captain, who will bring you to me. It is understood—is it not?"
"But, count, do you remember that the 5th of October———"
"Child!" replied the count, "not to know the value of a man's word! I have told you twenty times that if you wish to die on that day, I will assist you. Morrel, farewell!"
"Do you leave me?"
"Yes; I have business in Italy. I leave you alone in your struggle with misfortune—alone with that strong-winged eagle which God sends to bear aloft the elect to his feet. The story of Ganymede, Maximilian, is not a fable, but an allegory."
