“My kind friends, leave me alone with Maximilian.”
Julie saw the means offered of carrying off her precious relic, which Monte Cristo had forgotten. She drew her husband to the door. “Let us leave them,” she said.
The count was alone with Morrel, who remained motionless as a statue.
“Come,” said Monte-Cristo, touching his shoulder with his finger, “are you a man again, Maximilian?”
“Yes; for I begin to suffer again.”
The count frowned, apparently in gloomy hesitation.
“Maximilian, Maximilian,” he said, “the ideas you yield to are unworthy of a Christian.”
“Oh, do not fear, my friend,” said Morrel, raising his head, and smiling with a sweet expression on the count; “I shall no longer attempt my life.”
“Then we are to have no more pistols—no more despair?”
“No; I have found a better remedy for my grief than either a bullet or a knife.”