gold, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, which ornamented the box. It was a mixed mass of blue, red, and gold.
The count took out a small quantity of this with a gilt spoon, and offered it to Morrel, fixing a long steadfast glance upon him. It was then observable that the substance was greenish.
“This is what you asked for,” he said, “and what I promised to give you.”
“I thank you from the depths of my heart,” said the young man, taking the spoon from the hands of Monte Cristo.
The count took another spoon, and again dipped it into the golden box.
“What are you going to do, my friend?” asked Morrel, arresting his hand.
“Well, the fact is, Morrel, I was thinking that I too am weary of life, and since an opportunity presents itself—”
“Stay!” said the young man. “You who love, and are beloved; you, who have faith and hope—oh, do not follow my example. In your case it would be a crime. Adieu, my noble and generous friend, adieu; I will go and tell Valentine what you have done for me.”
And slowly, though without any hesitation, only waiting to press the count’s hand fervently, he swallowed the mysterious substance offered by Monte Cristo. Then they were both silent. Ali, mute and attentive, brought the pipes and coffee, and disappeared. By degrees, the light of the lamps gradually faded in the hands of the marble statues which held them, and the perfumes appeared less powerful to Morrel. Seated opposite to him, Monte Cristo watched him in the shadow, and Morrel saw nothing but the bright eyes of the count.