“But have you no request to make for yourself, Mercédès?”

“For myself I want nothing. I live, as it were, between two graves. One is that of Edmond Dantès, lost to me long, long since. He had my love! That word ill becomes my faded lip now, but it is a memory dear to my heart, and one that I would not lose for all that the world contains. The other grave is that of the man who met his death from the hand of Edmond Dantès. I approve of the deed, but I must pray for the dead.”

“Your son shall be happy, Mercédès,” repeated the count.

“Then I shall enjoy as much happiness as this world can possibly confer.”

“But what are your intentions?”

Mercédès smiled sadly.