"Here I am, count, to receive the powder from your hands which will realize my hope to meet Valentine in another world."
"Nothing can induce you to give up your design then?" asked Monte-Cristo.
"Nothing, not even you," answered Morrel, firmly.
"Well, then, let it be so," said Monte-Cristo sternly, as he took a greenish, strongly smelling pastil from a box cut from an opal.
"It is hashish. Death is painless and recalls to the person taking it the most beautiful memories of his life."
Maximilian embraced his friend and swallowed the pastil.
The effect was wonderful. A delightful languor took possession of Maximilian. All the scenes of his childhood came back to him, only the form of his darling was missing. Suddenly the back part of the room appeared to open and a female form strode toward him with arms outstretched; it was the purified form of his beloved.
"Oh, how sweet is such a death," whispered Maximilian.
The figure strode nearer to him, embraced him and kissed his burning forehead.
"My poor lover," murmured a well-known voice.