It will be remembered that Esperance in his righteous anger had aimed his pistols at Benedetto, but the thought of a murder in this upright soul was but a passing one, and when he drew his sword he laid down his pistols upon a chair near him.
At the moment when Benedetto felt that all was lost his eyes fell an the arms, and an infernal thought struck him. He gradually approached the chair, and finally, with a sudden movement, snatched one of the revolvers. The scoundrel had murdered his adversary. Esperance fell and Jane encircled him with her arms.
Benedetto frowningly looked on. He had at last achieved his object. Unable to injure the man he hated, he had wounded him through his son, his only child!
"Farewell," sighed Esperance, "I love thee, Jane, but I am dying!"
"And I die with you!" answered Jane, with paling lips.
And as if the angel of death touched them both at the same time, they slept in eternal night.
Benedetto did not move. Suddenly he started. Loud noises were heard at the door of the deserted house.
"We are here, Esperance! We bring you aid!" voices called in cheering tones.
Benedetto looked about like a wild boar at bay. Every issue was cut off. He knew that he had no pity to expect, for when these men beheld him here with his two victims they would take his life without the smallest hesitation. He rushed to the window and opened it; the Seine ran dark at his feet.
Benedetto waited until Fanfar and his friends entered the room, and then crying out to them, "You are too late! I have killed the son of Monte-Cristo!" leaped into the river.