“Maximilian,” said the count, “you should not look on the graves, but there;” and he pointed upwards.
“The dead are everywhere,” said Morrel; “did you not yourself tell me so as we left Paris?”
“Maximilian,” said the count, “you asked me during the journey to allow you to remain some days at Marseilles. Do you still wish to do so?”
“I have no wishes, count; only I fancy I could pass the time less painfully here than anywhere else.”
“So much the better, for I must leave you; but I carry your word with me, do I not?”
“Ah, count, I shall forget it.”
“No, you will not forget it, because you are a man of honor, Morrel, because you have taken an oath, and are about to do so again.”
“Oh, count, have pity upon me. I am so unhappy.”
“I have known a man much more unfortunate than you, Morrel.”
“Impossible!”