“No,” said Caderousse, “no; I will not repent. There is no God; there is no Providence⁠—all comes by chance.”

“There is a Providence; there is a God,” said Monte Cristo, “of whom you are a striking proof, as you lie in utter despair, denying him, while I stand before you, rich, happy, safe and entreating that God in whom you endeavor not to believe, while in your heart you still believe in him.”

“But who are you, then?” asked Caderousse, fixing his dying eyes on the count.

“Look well at me!” said Monte Cristo, putting the light near his face.

“Well, the abbé⁠—the Abbé Busoni.” Monte Cristo took off the wig which disfigured him, and let fall his black hair, which added so much to the beauty of his pallid features.

“Oh?” said Caderousse, thunderstruck, “but for that black hair, I should say you were the Englishman, Lord Wilmore.”