He was finishing the last line when a cry behind him made him start, and the pen fell from his hand.
“Haydée,” said he, “did you read it?”
“Oh, my lord,” said she, “why are you writing thus at such an hour? Why are you bequeathing all your fortune to me? Are you going to leave me?”
“I am going on a journey, dear child,” said Monte Cristo, with an expression of infinite tenderness and melancholy; “and if any misfortune should happen to me——”
The count stopped.
“Well?” asked the young girl, with an authoritative tone the count had never observed before, and which startled him.
“Well, if any misfortune happen to me,” replied Monte Cristo, “I wish my daughter to be happy.” Haydée smiled sorrowfully, and shook her head.
“Do you think of dying, my lord?” said she.
“The wise man, my child, has said, ‘It is good to think of death.’”
“Well, if you die,” said she, “bequeath your fortune to others, for if you die I shall require nothing;” and, taking the paper, she tore it in four pieces, and threw it into the middle of the room. Then, the effort having exhausted her strength, she fell, not asleep this time, but fainting on the floor.