"Oh, no, he is still confused."
"So much the better. Keep yourself at a distance. He will recover."
"What is this?" exclaimed Bertuccio, catching a glimpse of the contents of the box. "It must be the spoils of some new robbery."
"Undoubtedly," said the count; "but, stay, there is a letter under these bank-notes which might clear up the mystery."
"My son," ran the letter, "I will send this letter to you on the eve of my departure from France. You have forgiven me. To-morrow I shall see you for the last time. May God be with you and place you under his protection. Your mother, H. D."
Monte-Cristo shuddered.
"Hermine Danglars," he muttered to himself. "Poor, poor woman!"
Shoving Bertuccio aside, he bent over Benedetto, and said, in a voice which penetrated the deepest depths of the soul:
"Benedetto, hear me!"
A shiver ran through the wretch, but the dark eyes remained closed.