For a moment Mercedes and the count stood motionless opposite each other; then Monte-Cristo extended his hand to the sobbing woman, and in a faltering voice he begged:

"Mercedes—to-day I know that I have sinned—I have punished harder than I had a right to do, and I can only supplicate you to forgive me. Take my life and I shall not murmur. I thought to fulfil my duty, and have executed revenge!"

"No, Edmond—do not talk like this!" said Mercedes, softly; "the lot which met me I deserved even more than—Broken faithfulness must always revenge itself bitterly. The misfortune which nowadays pulls me down has nothing to do with the past, and therefore I ask your help."

"Then speak, Mercedes—I hear," replied Monte-Cristo, simply.

"Edmond," began Mercedes, without further apologies, "you know what was the intention of my son, for whom I was attached to life when everything around was destroyed. Alas! Albert is the favorite of my heart; do not think me foolish, if I tell you he was worthy of you! His letters, which, breathe of his uninterrupted, faithful filial love, have kept me alive ten long, lonesome and weary years; when I read his tender words, when he embraced me, all my hopes centred in the moment when we should meet again! But suddenly all letters ceased to arrive. I waited many a long day, weeks, months, but all in vain—no news came.

"I anxiously read all papers—I inquired and hoped, but I could bring nothing to light. At length I resolved to write to Paris to the Minister of War—I received no answer, and my despair increased daily.

"Then an accident led Monsieur Beauchamp to Marseilles—I took heart to look for him, and acquainted him with my sorrow. He received me very kindly, listened to me, and promised to exert himself to obtain some information for me. After eight days I received the sad news—"

"Then Albert is dead?" said the count, sorrowfully.

"Oh, God, no—say not so—he cannot, he dare not be dead!" sobbed Mercedes. "The news which Beauchamp acquainted me with was disheartening enough. My poor son, captain in the first Zouave regiment, or the so-called Jackals, about three months ago, after an expedition against the Kabyles, disappeared; they fear the wild horde has taken him away!"

Monte-Cristo reflected a moment and then inquired: "Did it happen before or after the submission of Abd-el-Kader?"

"After, as much as I can tell. Monsieur Beauchamp, however, was not satisfied with the uncertain reports—he informed me that a Zouave from Albert's regiment was on furlough in Paris, and he would not fail to have the Zouave sent to Marseilles to inform me of all, in a more particular way."

"And has this Zouave arrived?" inquired Monte-Cristo, animatedly.

"Yes, a few days since."

"And what does he say?"

"He maintains Albert is still alive."

"Then we may yet hope for the best, Mercedes," said Monte-Cristo, consolingly. "God owes you a recompense, and you will see your son again!"

"If you say so, I believe it," replied Mercedes sincerely.

"May I also speak with the Zouave?"

"Certainly—he is downstairs now."

"Then let him come up; I should like to ask him a few questions."

Mercedes called the sergeant; Monte-Cristo looked at her pitifully and then whispered:

"Mercedes—here this has reference to my life—you have known me from childhood—have I ever broken my word?"

"Oh, no—only I am guilty of it!"

"I did not wish to hear of that—you have my oath, and with the help of God I shall keep the same!"