"What were you going to do, Maximilian?" asked Monte-Cristo, sternly.
"The one thing which is left to an unfortunate who has been robbed of the one most dear to him on earth," the young man replied, in a tone of resignation.
"I understand you; he who has known Valentine as I have could readily excuse the abominable step you were about to take."
"And do you not approve of it?" asked the young man, in a tone of astonishment.
"That depends on circumstances; these circumstances are, however, not yet here, much as you may wonder. I make you the following proposition: If, at the end of a month, you do not declare that you regard this suicide as a crime against yourself and all those dear to you, then I will give you a powder which will put an end to your life without leaving such ugly traces as that pistol on your desk."
"If you can wake the dead, then you can help me. But this miraculous power I do not believe even you have. Nevertheless, I have never refused you a favor, and accede to your request, on condition that you promise not to make any new attempts to prevent me from carrying out my design."
"Accepted," said the count, as he stretched out his hand affectionately toward the young man, who grasped it without hesitation.
"To-day a month," he continued, "I shall await you on the island of Monte-Cristo."
With these words Monte-Cristo left his friend.
Maximilian remained true to his word. Five days before the expiration of the fateful month he went from Paris to Marseilles and embarked from there on one of the yachts belonging to the count for the little island of Monte-Cristo, which he reached on the appointed day. Ali, the black servant of the count, met him on the wharf and conducted him to the count's apartments.