基督山伯爵（The Count of Monte Cristo）第一一七章　十月五日

IT WAS about six o'clock in the evening; an opal-colored light, through which an autumnal sun shed its golden rays, descended on the blue ocean. The heat of the day had gradually decreased, and a light breeze arose, seeming like the respiration of nature on awakening from the burning siesta of the south. A delicious zephyr played along the coasts of the Mediterranean, and wafted from shore to shore the sweet perfume of plants, mingled with the fresh smell of the sea.

A light yacht, chaste and elegant in its form, was gliding amidst the first dews of night over the immense lake, extending from Gibraltar to the Dardanelles, and from Tunis to Venice. The vessel resembled a swan with its wings opened towards the wind, gliding on the water. It advanced swiftly and gracefully, leaving behind it a glittering stretch of foam. By degrees the sun disappeared behind the western horizon; but as though to prove the truth of the fanciful ideas in heathen mythology, its indiscreet rays reappeared on the summit of every wave, as if the god of fire had just sunk upon the bosom of Amphitrite, who in vain endeavored to hide her lover beneath her azure mantle. The yacht moved rapidly on, though there did not appear to be sufficient wind to ruffle the curls on the head of a young girl. Standing on the prow was a tall man, of a dark complexion, who saw with dilating eyes that they were approaching a dark mass of land in the shape of a cone, which rose from the midst of the waves like the hat of a Catalan. "Is that Monte Cristo?" asked the traveller, to whose orders the yacht was for the time submitted, in a melancholy voice.

"Yes, your excellency," said the captain, "we have reached it."

"We have reached it!" repeated the traveller in an accent of indescribable sadness. Then he added, in a low tone, "Yes; that is the haven." And then he again plunged into a train of thought, the character of which was better revealed by a sad smile, than it would have been by tears. A few minutes afterwards a flash of light, which was extinguished instantly, was seen on the land, and the sound of firearms reached the yacht.

"Your excellency," said the captain, "that was the land signal, will you answer yourself?"

"What signal?" The captain pointed towards the island, up the side of which ascended a volume of smoke, increasing as it rose. "Ah, yes," he said, as if awaking from a dream. "Give it to me."

The captain gave him a loaded carbine; the traveller slowly raised it, and fired in the air. Ten minutes afterwards, the sails were furled, and they cast anchor about a hundred fathoms from the little harbor. The gig was already lowered, and in it were four oarsmen and a coxswain. The traveller descended, and instead of sitting down at the stern of the boat, which had been decorated with a blue carpet for his accommodation, stood up with his arms crossed. The rowers waited, their oars half lifted out of the water, like birds drying their wings.

"Give way," said the traveller. The eight oars fell into the sea simultaneously without splashing a drop of water, and the boat, yielding to the impulsion, glided forward. In an instant they found themselves in a little harbor, formed in a natural creek; the boat grounded on the fine sand.

"Will your excellency be so good as to mount the shoulders of two of our men, they will carry you ashore?" The young man answered this invitation with a gesture of indifference, and stepped out of the boat; the sea immediately rose to his waist. "Ah, your excellency," murmured the pilot, "you should not have done so; our master will scold us for it." The young man continued to advance, following the sailors, who chose a firm footing. Thirty strides brought them to dry land; the young man stamped on the ground to shake off the wet, and looked around for some one to show him his road, for it was quite dark. Just as he turned, a hand rested on his shoulder, and a voice which made him shudder exclaimed,--

"Good-evening, Maximilian; you are punctual, thank you!"

"Ah, is it you, count?" said the young man, in an almost joyful accent, pressing Monte Cristo's hand with both his own.

"Yes; you see I am as exact as you are. But you are dripping, my dear fellow; you must change your clothes, as Calypso said to Telemachus. Come, I have a habitation prepared for you in which you will soon forget fatigue and cold." Monte Cristo perceived that the young man had turned around; indeed, Morrel saw with surprise that the men who had brought him had left without being paid, or uttering a word. Already the sound of their oars might be heard as they returned to the yacht.

"Oh, yes," said the count, "you are looking for the sailors."

"Yes, I paid them nothing, and yet they are gone."

"Never mind that, Maximilian," said Monte Cristo, smiling. "I have made an agreement with the navy, that the access to my island shall be free of all charge. I have made a bargain." Morrel looked at the count with surprise. "Count," he said, "you are not the same here as in Paris."

"How so?"

"Here you laugh." The count's brow became clouded. "You are right to recall me to myself, Maximilian," he said; "I was delighted to see you again, and forgot for the moment that all happiness is fleeting."

"Oh, no, no, count," cried Maximilian, seizing the count's hands, "pray laugh; be happy, and prove to me, by your indifference, that life is endurable to sufferers. Oh, how charitable, kind, and good you are; you affect this gayety to inspire me with courage."

"You are wrong, Morrel; I was really happy."

"Then you forget me, so much the better."

"How so?"

"Yes; for as the gladiator said to the emperor, when he entered the arena, 'He who is about to die salutes you.'"

"Then you are not consoled?" asked the count, surprised.

"Oh," exclaimed Morrel, with a glance full of bitter reproach, "do you think it possible that I could be?"

"Listen," said the count. "Do you understand the meaning of my words? You cannot take me for a commonplace man, a mere rattle, emitting a vague and senseless noise. When I ask you if you are consoled, I speak to you as a man for whom the human heart has no secrets. Well, Morrel, let us both examine the depths of your heart. Do you still feel the same feverish impatience of grief which made you start like a wounded lion? Have you still that devouring thirst which can only be appeased in the grave? Are you still actuated by the regret which drags the living to the pursuit of death; or are you only suffering from the prostration of fatigue and the weariness of hope deferred? Has the loss of memory rendered it impossible for you to weep? Oh, my dear friend, if this be the case,--if you can no longer weep, if your frozen heart be dead, if you put all your trust in God, then, Maximilian, you are consoled--do not complain."

"Count," said Morrel, in a firm and at the same time soft voice, "listen to me, as to a man whose thoughts are raised to heaven, though he remains on earth; I come to die in the arms of a friend. Certainly, there are people whom I love. I love my sister Julie,--I love her husband Emmanuel; but I require a strong mind to smile on my last moments. My sister would be bathed in tears and fainting; I could not bear to see her suffer. Emmanuel would tear the weapon from my hand, and alarm the house with his cries. You, count, who are more than mortal, will, I am sure, lead me to death by a pleasant path, will you not?"

"My friend," said the count, "I have still one doubt,--are you weak enough to pride yourself upon your sufferings?"

"No, indeed,--I am calm," said Morrel, giving his hand to the count; "my pulse does not beat slower or faster than usual. No, I feel that I have reached the goal, and I will go no farther. You told me to wait and hope; do you know what you did, unfortunate adviser? I waited a month, or rather I suffered for a month! I did hope (man is a poor wretched creature), I did hope. What I cannot tell,--something wonderful, an absurdity, a miracle,--of what nature he alone can tell who has mingled with our reason that folly we call hope. Yes, I did wait--yes, I did hope, count, and during this quarter of an hour we have been talking together, you have unconsciously wounded, tortured my heart, for every word you have uttered proved that there was no hope for me. Oh, count, I shall sleep calmly, deliciously in the arms of death." Morrel uttered these words with an energy which made the count shudder. "My friend," continued Morrel, "you named the fifth of October as the end of the period of waiting,--to-day is the fifth of October," he took out his watch, "it is now nine o'clock,--I have yet three hours to live."

"Be it so," said the count, "come." Morrel mechanically followed the count, and they had entered the grotto before he perceived it. He felt a carpet under his feet, a door opened, perfumes surrounded him, and a brilliant light dazzled his eyes. Morrel hesitated to advance; he dreaded the enervating effect of all that he saw. Monte Cristo drew him in gently. "Why should we not spend the last three hours remaining to us of life, like those ancient Romans, who when condemned by Nero, their emperor and heir, sat down at a table covered with flowers, and gently glided into death, amid the perfume of heliotropes and roses?" Morrel smiled. "As you please," he said; "death is always death,--that is forgetfulness, repose, exclusion from life, and therefore from grief." He sat down, and Monte Cristo placed himself opposite to him. They were in the marvellous dining-room before described, where the statues had baskets on their heads always filled with fruits and flowers. Morrel had looked carelessly around, and had probably noticed nothing.

"Let us talk like men," he said, looking at the count.

"Go on!"

"Count," said Morrel, "you are the epitome of all human knowledge, and you seem like a being descended from a wiser and more advanced world than ours."

"There is something true in what you say," said the count, with that smile which made him so handsome; "I have descended from a planet called grief."

"I believe all you tell me without questioning its meaning; for instance, you told me to live, and I did live; you told me to hope, and I almost did so. I am almost inclined to ask you, as though you had experienced death, 'is it painful to die?'"

Monte Cristo looked upon Morrel with indescribable tenderness. "Yes," he said, "yes, doubtless it is painful, if you violently break the outer covering which obstinately begs for life. If you plunge a dagger into your flesh, if you insinuate a bullet into your brain, which the least shock disorders,--then certainly, you will suffer pain, and you will repent quitting a life for a repose you have bought at so dear a price."

"Yes; I know that there is a secret of luxury and pain in death, as well as in life; the only thing is to understand it." "You have spoken truly, Maximilian; according to the care we bestow upon it, death is either a friend who rocks us gently as a nurse, or an enemy who violently drags the soul from the body. Some day, when the world is much older, and when mankind will be masters of all the destructive powers in nature, to serve for the general good of humanity; when mankind, as you were just saying, have discovered the secrets of death, then that death will become as sweet and voluptuous as a slumber in the arms of your beloved."

"And if you wished to die, you would choose this death, count?"

"Yes."

Morrel extended his hand. "Now I understand," he said, "why you had me brought here to this desolate spot, in the midst of the ocean, to this subterranean palace; it was because you loved me, was it not, count? It was because you loved me well enough to give me one of those sweet means of death of which we were speaking; a death without agony, a death which allows me to fade away while pronouncing Valentine's name and pressing your hand."

"Yes, you have guessed rightly, Morrel," said the count, "that is what I intended."

"Thanks; the idea that tomorrow I shall no longer suffer, is sweet to my heart."

"Do you then regret nothing?"

"No," replied Morrel.

"Not even me?" asked the count with deep emotion. Morrel's clear eye was for the moment clouded, then it shone with unusual lustre, and a large tear rolled down his cheek.

"What," said the count, "do you still regret anything in the world, and yet die?"

"Oh, I entreat you," exclaimed Morrel in a low voice, "do not speak another word, count; do not prolong my punishment." The count fancied that he was yielding, and this belief revived the horrible doubt that had overwhelmed him at the Chateau d'If. "I am endeavoring," he thought, "to make this man happy; I look upon this restitution as a weight thrown into the scale to balance the evil I have wrought. Now, supposing I am deceived, supposing this man has not been unhappy enough to merit happiness. Alas, what would become of me who can only atone for evil by doing good?" Then he said aloud: "Listen, Morrel, I see your grief is great, but still you do not like to risk your soul." Morrel smiled sadly. "Count," he said, "I swear to you my soul is no longer my own."

"Maximilian, you know I have no relation in the world. I have accustomed myself to regard you as my son: well, then, to save my son, I will sacrifice my life, nay, even my fortune."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that you wish to quit life because you do not understand all the enjoyments which are the fruits of a large fortune. Morrel, I possess nearly a hundred millions and I give them to you; with such a fortune you can attain every wish. Are you ambitions? Every career is open to you. Overturn the world, change its character, yield to mad ideas, be even criminal--but live."

"Count, I have your word," said Morrel coldly; then taking out his watch, he added, "It is half-past eleven."

"Morrel, can you intend it in my house, under my very eyes?"

"Then let me go," said Maximilian, "or I shall think you did not love me for my own sake, but for yours; "and he arose.

"It is well," said Monte Cristo whose countenance brightened at these words; "you wish--you are inflexible. Yes, as you said, you are indeed wretched and a miracle alone can cure you. Sit down, Morrel, and wait."

Morrel obeyed; the count arose, and unlocking a closet with a key suspended from his gold chain, took from it a little silver casket, beautifully carved and chased, the corners of which represented four bending figures, similar to the Caryatides, the forms of women, symbols of the angels aspiring to heaven. He placed the casket on the table; then opening it took out a little golden box, the top of which flew open when touched by a secret spring. This box contained an unctuous substance partly solid, of which it was impossible to discover the color, owing to the reflection of the polished gold, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, which ornamented the box. It was a mixed mass of blue, red, and gold. The count took out a small quantity of this with a gilt spoon, and offered it to Morrel, fixing a long steadfast glance upon him. It was then observable that the substance was greenish.

"This is what you asked for," he said, "and what I promised to give you."

"I thank you from the depths of my heart," said the young man, taking the spoon from the hands of Monte Cristo. The count took another spoon, and again dipped it into the golden box. "What are you going to do, my friend?" asked Morrel, arresting his hand.

"Well, the fact is, Morrel, I was thinking that I too am weary of life, and since an opportunity presents itself"--

"Stay!" said the young man. "You who love, and are beloved; you, who have faith and hope,--oh, do not follow my example. In your case it would be a crime. Adieu, my noble and generous friend, adieu; I will go and tell Valentine what you have done for me." And slowly, though without any hesitation, only waiting to press the count's hand fervently, he swallowed the mysterious substance offered by Monte Cristo. Then they were both silent. Ali, mute and attentive, brought the pipes and coffee, and disappeared. By degrees, the light of the lamps gradually faded in the hands of the marble statues which held them, and the perfumes appeared less powerful to Morrel. Seated opposite to him, Monte Cristo watched him in the shadow, and Morrel saw nothing but the bright eyes of the count. An overpowering sadness took possession of the young man, his hands relaxed their hold, the objects in the room gradually lost their form and color, and his disturbed vision seemed to perceive doors and curtains open in the walls.

"Friend," he cried, "I feel that I am dying; thanks!" He made a last effort to extend his hand, but it fell powerless beside him. Then it appeared to him that Monte Cristo smiled, not with the strange and fearful expression which had sometimes revealed to him the secrets of his heart, but with the benevolent kindness of a father for a child. At the same time the count appeared to increase in stature, his form, nearly double its usual height, stood out in relief against the red tapestry, his black hair was thrown back, and he stood in the attitude of an avenging angel. Morrel, overpowered, turned around in the arm-chair; a delicious torpor permeated every vein. A change of ideas presented themselves to his brain, like a new design on the kaleidoscope. Enervated, prostrate, and breathless, he became unconscious of outward objects; he seemed to be entering that vague delirium preceding death. He wished once again to press the count's hand, but his own was immovable. He wished to articulate a last farewell, but his tongue lay motionless and heavy in his throat, like a stone at the mouth of a sepulchre. Involuntarily his languid eyes closed, and still through his eyelashes a well-known form seemed to move amid the obscurity with which he thought himself enveloped.

The count had just opened a door. Immediately a brilliant light from the next room, or rather from the palace adjoining, shone upon the room in which he was gently gliding into his last sleep. Then he saw a woman of marvellous beauty appear on the threshold of the door separating the two rooms. Pale, and sweetly smiling, she looked like an angel of mercy conjuring the angel of vengeance. "Is it heaven that opens before me?" thought the dying man; "that angel resembles the one I have lost." Monte Cristo pointed out Morrel to the young woman, who advanced towards him with clasped hands and a smile upon her lips.

"Valentine, Valentine!" he mentally ejaculated; but his lips uttered no sound, and as though all his strength were centred in that internal emotion, he sighed and closed his eyes. Valentine rushed towards him; his lips again moved.

"He is calling you," said the count; "he to whom you have confided your destiny--he from whom death would have separated you, calls you to him. Happily, I vanquished death. Henceforth, Valentine, you will never again be separated on earth, since he has rushed into death to find you. Without me, you would both have died. May God accept my atonement in the preservation of these two existences!"

Valentine seized the count's hand, and in her irresistible impulse of joy carried it to her lips.

"Oh, thank me again!" said the count; "tell me till you are weary, that I have restored you to happiness; you do not know how much I require this assurance."

"Oh, yes, yes, I thank you with all my heart," said Valentine; "and if you doubt the sincerity of my gratitude, oh, then, ask Haidée! ask my beloved sister Haidée, who ever since our departure from France, has caused me to wait patiently for this happy day, while talking to me of you."

"You then love Haidée?" asked Monte Cristo with an emotion he in vain endeavored to dissimulate.

"Oh, yes, with all my soul."

"Well, then, listen, Valentine," said the count; "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Of me? Oh, am I happy enough for that?"

"Yes; you have called Haidée your sister,--let her become so indeed, Valentine; render her all the gratitude you fancy that you owe to me; protect her, for" (the count's voice was thick with emotion) "henceforth she will be alone in the world."

"Alone in the world!" repeated a voice behind the count, "and why?"

Monte Cristo turned around; Haidée was standing pale, motionless, looking at the count with an expression of fearful amazement.

"Because to-morrow, Haidée, you will be free; you will then assume your proper position in society, for I will not allow my destiny to overshadow yours. Daughter of a prince, I restore to you the riches and name of your father."

Haidée became pale, and lifting her transparent hands to heaven, exclaimed in a voice stifled with tears, "Then you leave me, my lord?"

"Haidée, Haidée, you are young and beautiful; forget even my name, and be happy."

"It is well," said Haidée; "your order shall be executed, my lord; I will forget even your name, and be happy." And she stepped back to retire.

"Oh, heavens," exclaimed Valentine, who was supporting the head of Morrel on her shoulder, "do you not see how pale she is? Do you not see how she suffers?"

Haidée answered with a heartrending expression, "Why should he understand this, my sister? He is my master, and I am his slave; he has the right to notice nothing."

The count shuddered at the tones of a voice which penetrated the inmost recesses of his heart; his eyes met those of the young girl and he could not bear their brilliancy. "Oh, heavens," exclaimed Monte Cristo, "can my suspicions be correct? Haidée, would it please you not to leave me?"

"I am young," gently replied Haidée; "I love the life you have made so sweet to me, and I should be sorry to die."

"You mean, then, that if I leave you, Haidée"--

"I should die; yes, my lord."

"Do you then love me?"

"Oh, Valentine, he asks if I love him. Valentine, tell him if you love Maximilian." The count felt his heart dilate and throb; he opened his arms, and Haidée, uttering a cry, sprang into them. "Oh, yes," she cried, "I do love you! I love you as one loves a father, brother, husband! I love you as my life, for you are the best, the noblest of created beings!"

"Let it be, then, as you wish, sweet angel; God has sustained me in my struggle with my enemies, and has given me this reward; he will not let me end my triumph in suffering; I wished to punish myself, but he has pardoned me. Love me then, Haidée! Who knows? perhaps your love will make me forget all that I do not wish to remember."

"What do you mean, my lord?"

"I mean that one word from you has enlightened me more than twenty years of slow experience; I have but you in the world, Haidée; through you I again take hold on life, through you I shall suffer, through you rejoice."

"Do you hear him, Valentine?" exclaimed Haidée; "he says that through me he will suffer--through me, who would yield my life for his." The count withdrew for a moment. "Have I discovered the truth?" he said; "but whether it be for recompense or punishment, I accept my fate. Come, Haidée, come!" and throwing his arm around the young girl's waist, he pressed the hand of Valentine, and disappeared.

An hour had nearly passed, during which Valentine, breathless and motionless, watched steadfastly over Morrel. At length she felt his heart beat, a faint breath played upon his lips, a slight shudder, announcing the return of life, passed through the young man's frame. At length his eyes opened, but they were at first fixed and expressionless; then sight returned, and with it feeling and grief. "Oh," he cried, in an accent of despair, "the count has deceived me; I am yet living; "and extending his hand towards the table, he seized a knife.

"Dearest," exclaimed Valentine, with her adorable smile, "awake, and look at me!" Morrel uttered a loud exclamation, and frantic, doubtful, dazzled, as though by a celestial vision, he fell upon his knees.

The next morning at daybreak, Valentine and Morrel were walking arm-in-arm on the sea-shore, Valentine relating how Monte Cristo had appeared in her room, explained everything, revealed the crime, and, finally, how he had saved her life by enabling her to simulate death. They had found the door of the grotto opened, and gone forth; on the azure dome of heaven still glittered a few remaining stars. Morrel soon perceived a man standing among the rocks, apparently awaiting a sign from them to advance, and pointed him out to Valentine. "Ah, it is Jacopo," she said, "the captain of the yacht; "and she beckoned him towards them.

"Do you wish to speak to us?" asked Morrel.

"I have a letter to give you from the count."

"From the count!" murmured the two young people.

"Yes; read it." Morrel opened the letter, and read:--

"MY DEAR MAXIMILIAN,--

"There is a felucca for you at anchor. Jacopo will carry you to Leghorn, where Monsieur Noirtier awaits his granddaughter, whom he wishes to bless before you lead her to the altar. All that is in this grotto, my friend, my house in the Champs Elysées, and my Chateau at Tréport, are the marriage gifts bestowed by Edmond Dantès upon the son of his old master, Morrel. Mademoiselle de Villefort will share them with you; for I entreat her to give to the poor the immense fortune reverting to her from her father, now a madman, and her brother who died last September with his mother. Tell the angel who will watch over your future destiny, Morrel, to pray sometimes for a man, who like Satan thought himself for an instant equal to God, but who now acknowledges with Christian humility that God alone possesses supreme power and infinite wisdom. Perhaps those prayers may soften the remorse he feels in his heart. As for you, Morrel, this is the secret of my conduct towards you. There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die, Morrel, that we may appreciate the enjoyments of living.

"Live, then, and be happy, beloved children of my heart, and never forget that until the day when God shall deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is summed up in these two words,--'Wait and hope.' Your friend,

"EDMOND DANTèS, COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO."

During the perusal of this letter, which informed Valentine for the first time of the madness of her father and the death of her brother, she became pale, a heavy sigh escaped from her bosom, and tears, not the less painful because they were silent, ran down her cheeks; her happiness cost her very dear. Morrel looked around uneasily. "But," he said, "the count's generosity is too overwhelming; Valentine will be satisfied with my humble fortune. Where is the count, friend? Lead me to him." Jacopo pointed towards the horizon. "What do you mean?" asked Valentine. "Where is the count?--where is Haidée?"

"Look!" said Jacopo.

The eyes of both were fixed upon the spot indicated by the sailor, and on the blue line separating the sky from the Mediterranean Sea, they perceived a large white sail. "Gone," said Morrel; "gone!--adieu, my friend--adieu, my father!"

"Gone," murmured Valentine; "adieu, my sweet Haidée--adieu, my sister!"

"Who can say whether we shall ever see them again?" said Morrel with tearful eyes.

"Darling," replied Valentine, "has not the count just told us that all human wisdom is summed up in two words?--'Wait and hope.'"

　 <The End>

傍晚六点钟左右；乳白色的晕雾笼罩到蔚蓝的海面上；透过这片晕雾，秋天的太阳把它那金色的光芒撒在蔚蓝的海面上，白天的炎热已渐渐消退了，微风拂过海面，象是大自然午睡醒来后呼出的气息一样；一阵爽神的微风吹拂着地中海的海岸，把夹杂着清新的海的气息的花草香味到处播送。

在这片从直布罗陀到达达尼尔，从突尼斯到威尼斯的浩瀚无垠的大海上，一艘整洁、漂亮、轻捷的游艇正在黄昏的轻雾中穿行。犹如一只迎风展翅的天鹅，平稳地在水面上滑行。它迅速而优美地在它的后面留下一道发光的水痕。渐渐地，太阳消失在西方的地平线上了：但象是要证实神话家的幻想似的，尚未收尽的余辉象火焰一般跳动在每一个波浪的浪尖上，似乎告诉人们海神安费德丽蒂把火神拥在怀抱里，她虽然竭力要把她的爱人掩藏在她那蔚蓝的大毯子底下，却始终掩饰不住。海面上的风虽然还不够吹乱一个少女头上的鬈发，但那艘游艇却行进得非常快。船头上站着一个身材高大、肤色浅黑的男子，他大睁着的眼睛看着他们渐渐接近的一片乌压压的陆地，那块陆地矗立在万顷波涛之中，象是一顶硕大无朋的迦太兰人的圆锥形的帽子。

“这就是基督山岛吗？”这位旅客用一种低沉的充满抑郁的声音问道。这艘游艇看上去是按照他的吩咐行驶的。

“是的，大人，”船长说，“我们到了！”

“我们到了！那旅客用一种无法形容的悲哀的声音把这句话复述了遍。然后他又低声说，“是的，就是那个港口。”于是他又带着一个比流泪更伤心的微笑再陷入一连串的思索里。几分钟以后，只见岛上闪过一道转瞬即逝的亮光，一声枪响几乎同时传到游艇上。

“大人，”船长说，“岛上发信号了，您要亲自回答吗？”

“什么信号？”

船长向这座岛指了一指，岛边升起一缕渐渐向上扩大的轻烟。

“啊，是的，”他说，象是从一场梦里醒来似的。“拿给我。”

船长给他一支实弹的马枪；旅客把它慢慢地举起来，向空放了一枪。十分钟以后，水手收起帆，在离小港口外五百尺的地方抛下锚。小艇已经放到水上，艇里有四个船夫和一个舵手。那旅客走下小艇，小艇的船尾上铺着一块蓝色的毡毯供他坐垫，但他并没有坐下来，却兀自把手叉在胸前。船夫们等待着，他们的桨半举在水面外，象是海鸟在晾干它们的翅膀似的。

“走吧，”那旅客说。八条桨一齐插入水里，没有溅起一滴水花，小船迅速地向前滑去。一会儿，他们已到了一个天然形成的小港里；船底触到沙滩不动了。

“大人请骑在这两个人的肩头上让他们送您上岸去。”那青年作了一个不在乎的姿势答复这种邀请，自己跨到水里，水齐及他的腰。

“啊，大人！”舵手轻声地说，“您不应该这样的，主人会责怪我们的。”

那青年继续跟着前面的水手向前走。走了大约三十步以后，他们登上陆地了。那青年在干硬的地面上蹬了蹬脚使劲向四下里望着，他想找一个人为他引路，因为这时天色已经完全黑了。正当他转过身去的时候，一只手落到他的肩头上，同时有个声音把他吓了一跳。

“您好，马西米兰！你很守时，谢谢你！”

“啊！是你吗，伯爵？”那青年人用一种几乎可说很欢喜的声音说，双手紧紧地握住基督山的手。

“是的，你瞧，我也象你一样的守约。但你身上还在滴水，我亲爱的朋友，我得象凯丽普索对德勒马克［典出荷马名著《奥德赛》：凯丽普索是住在奥癸其亚岛上的女神，德勒马克船破落海，被救起，收留在她的岛上。——译注］所说的那样对你说，你得换换衣服了。来，我为你准备了一个住处，你在那儿，不久就会忘掉疲劳和寒冷了。”

基督山发现那年轻人又转过身去，象在等什么人。莫雷尔很奇怪那些带他来的人竟一言不发，不要报酬就走了。原来他们已经在回到游艇上去了，他可以听到他们的划桨声。

“啊，对了，”伯爵说，“你在找那些水手吗？”

“是的，我还没付给他们钱，他们就走了。”

“别去管这事了，马西米兰，”基督山微笑着说，“我曾和航海业中的人约定：凡是到我的岛上来的旅客，一切费用都不收。用文明国家的说法，我与他们之间是有‘协定’的。”

马西米兰惊讶地望着伯爵。“伯爵”，他说，“你跟在巴黎时不一样了。”

“为什么呢？”

“在这儿，你笑了。”

伯爵的脸色又变得阴郁起来。”你说得很对，马西米兰，你提醒我回到现实中，”他说，“我很高兴再看见你，可忘记了所有的快乐都是过眼云烟。”

“噢，不，不，伯爵！”马西米兰抓住伯爵的双手喊道，“请笑吧。你应该快乐，你应该幸福，应该用你的谈笑自若的态度来证明：生命只有在这些受苦的人才是一个累赘。噢，你是多么善良，多么仁慈呀！你是为了鼓励我才装出高兴的样子。”

“你错了，莫雷尔，我刚才是真的很高兴。”

“那么你是忘了，那样也好。”

“为什么这么说？”

“是的，正如古罗马的斗士在走进角斗场以前对罗马皇帝所说的那样，我也要对你说：去赴死的人来向你致敬了。’”

“你的痛苦还没有减轻吗？”伯爵带着一种奇特的神色问道。

“哦！”莫雷尔的眼光中充满苦涩，“你难道真的以为我能够吗？”

“请听我说，”伯爵说，“你明白我的意思吗？你不能把我看作一个普通人，看作一个只会喋喋不休地说些废话的人。当我问你是否感到痛苦已减轻的时候，我是作为一个能洞悉人的心底秘密的人的资格来对你说的。嗯，莫雷尔，让我们一同来深入你的心灵，来对它作一番探索吧，难道使你身躯象受伤狮子一样跳动的痛苦仍然那么强烈？难道你仍然渴望到坟墓里去熄灭你的痛苦吗？难道那种迫使你舍生求死的悔恨依然存在吗？难道是勇气耗尽，烦恼要把希望之光抑止？难道你丧失记忆使你不能哭泣了？噢，亲爱的朋友，如果你把一切都托付给上帝的话，——那么，马西米兰，你是已经得到上帝的宽慰，别再抱怨了。”

“伯爵，”莫雷尔用坚定而平静的口气说，“且听我说，我的肉体虽然还在人间，但我的思想却已升到天上。我之所以到你这儿来，是因为希望自己死在一个朋友的怀抱里。世界上的确还有几个我所爱的人。我爱我的妹妹，我爱她的丈夫。但我需要有人对我张开坚定的臂膀，在我临终的时候能微笑地对着我。我的妹妹会满脸泪痕地昏过去，我会因为她的痛苦而痛苦。艾曼纽会阻止我的行动，还会嚷得全家人都知道，只有你，伯爵，你不是凡人，如果你没有肉体的话，我会把你称为神的，你甚至可以温和亲切地把我领到死神的门口，是不是？”

“我的朋友，”伯爵说，“我还有一点疑虑——你是不是因为太软弱了，才这么以炫耀自己的痛苦来作为自己的骄傲？”

“不，真的，我很平静，”莫雷尔一面说，一面伸出一只手给伯爵，“我的脉搏既不比平时快也不比平时慢。不，我只觉得我已经走到了路的尽头，没法再往前走了。你要我等待，要我希望，您知道您让我付了多大的代价吗？你这位不幸的智者。我已经等了一个月，这就是说，我被痛苦折磨了一个月！我希望过（人是一种可怜的动物）我希望过——希望什么？我说不出来，——一件神奇的事情，一件荒唐的事情，一件奇迹。只有上帝才知道那是什么，上帝把希望的那种念头和我们的理智掺杂在一起。是的，我等待过，是的，我希望过，伯爵，在我们谈话的这一刻钟里，你也许并没有意识到你一次又一次地刺痛了我的心，——因为你所说的每一个字都在向我证明我没有希望了。噢，伯爵！请让我宁静地、愉快地走进死神的怀抱里吧！”莫雷尔说这几个字的时候情绪非常激动，伯爵看了禁不住打了一个寒颤。“我的朋友，”莫雷尔继续说，“你把十月五日作为最后的期限，今天是十月五日了。”他掏出怀表。’现在是九点钟，我还有三小时。”

“那好吧，”伯爵说，“请跟我来。”

莫雷尔机械地跟着伯爵走，不知不觉之中，他们走进了一个岩洞。他感到脚下铺着地毯，一扇门开了，馥郁的香气包围了他，一片灿烂的灯光照花了他的眼睛。莫雷尔停住脚步，不敢再往前走，他怕他所见的一切会软化他的意志。基督山轻轻地拉了他一把。他说，“古代的罗马人被他们的皇帝尼罗王判处死刑的时候，他们就在堆满着鲜花的桌子前面坐下来，吸着玫瑰和紫堇花的香气从容赴死，我们何不学学那些罗马人，象他们那样来消磨剩下的三小时呢？”

莫雷尔微笑了一下。“随便你好了，”他说，“总归是要死，是忘却，是休息，是生命的超脱，也是痛苦的超脱。”他坐下来，基督山坐在他的对面。他们是在我们以前所描写过的那间神奇的餐厅里，在那儿，石像头上所顶的篮子里，永远盛满着水果和鲜花。

莫雷尔茫然地注视着这一切，大概什么都没有看见。“让我们象男子汉那样地谈一谈吧。”他望着伯爵说。

“请说吧！”伯爵答道。

“伯爵！”莫雷尔说，“在你身上集中了人类的全部知识，你给我的印象，好象是从一个比我们这个世界进步的世界里过来的。”

“你说的话有点道理，”伯爵带着那种使他非常英俊的忧郁的微笑说，“我是从一个名叫痛苦的星球上下来的。”

“你对我说的一切，我都相信，甚至不去追问它的含意。所以，你要我活下去，我就活下来了，你要求我要抱有希望，我几乎也抱有希望了。所以伯爵我把你当作一个已经死过一回的人，我冒昧地问一句了，死是不是痛苦的？”

基督山带着无法形容的怜爱望着莫雷尔。“是的，”他说，——“是的，当然很痛苦，你用暴力把那执着地求生的躯壳毁掉，那当然非常痛苦。如果你用一把匕首插进你的肉里，如果你把在窗口乱窜的子弹射进你那略受震动就会痛苦万分的大脑，你当然会痛苦，你会在一种可憎的方式下抛弃生命，痛苦绝望的代价比这样昂贵的安息要好得多。”

“是的，”莫雷尔说，“我明白，死和生一样，也有它痛苦和快乐的秘密。只是一般人不知道罢了。”

“你说得很对，马西米兰。死，按照我们处理它的方法的好坏，可以成为一个朋友象护士轻轻地拍我们入睡一样，也可以成为一个敌人，象一个粗暴地把灵魂从肉体里拖出来的敌人一样，将来有一天，当人类再生活上上千年，当人类能够控制大自然的一切毁灭性的力量来造福人类的时候，象你刚才所说的那样，当人类已发现死的秘密的时候，那时，死亡就会象睡在心爱的人的怀抱里一样甜蜜而愉快。

“如果你想死的时候，你是会这样地去死的，是不是，伯爵？”

“是的。”

莫雷尔伸出他的手。“现在我明白了。”他说，“现在我明白你为什么要带我到大海中的这个孤岛、到这个地下宫殿来的原因了，那是因为你爱我，是不是，伯爵？因为你爱我极深，所以让我甜蜜、愉快地死去，感不到任何痛苦，而且允许握着你的双手，呼唤着瓦朗蒂娜的名字，慢慢死去。”

“是的，你猜对了，莫雷尔，”伯爵说，“那确是我的本意。”

“谢谢！想到明天我就可以不再痛苦，我的心里感到很甜蜜。”

“那么你什么都不挂念了？”

“没有什么可牵挂的了。”

“甚至对我也不牵挂吗？”伯爵非常动情地问道。

莫雷尔那对明亮的眼睛暂黯淡了一下，但很快又恢复了那种不寻常的光泽，一滴眼泪顺着他的脸颊滚落下来。

“什么！”伯爵说，’难道当你在这个世界上还有所挂念的时候，你还想死吗？”

“哦，我求求你！”莫雷尔用低沉的虚弱的声音喊道，“别再说了，伯爵，别再延长我的痛苦了！”

伯爵以为他要死的决心动摇了，这种信念使他在伊夫堡一度已经被克服的可怕的怀疑又复活了。“我正在极力要使这个人快乐，”他想道，“我要让他快乐，以此来补偿我给他带来的痛苦，现在，万一我算错了呢，万一这个人的不幸还不够重，还不配享受我即将给他的幸福呢？偏偏只有在让他幸福以后我才能忘记我给他带来的痛苦。”我该怎么办，于是他大声说，“听着，莫雷尔，我看你的确很痛苦，但你依旧相信上帝，大概是不愿意以灵魂解脱来冒险的［按基督教教义，人的生命是上帝赋予的，人没有权利可以消灭自己的生命。所以自杀的人灵魂不能得到解脱。——译注］。”

莫雷尔戚然地笑了一下。“伯爵，”他说，“我不会多愁善感地做样子，我的灵魂早已不属于我了。”

“马西米兰，你知道我在这个世界上没有任何亲人。我一向把你当作我儿子。为了救我的儿子，我连生命都能牺牲，更何况财产呢。”

“你是什么意思？”

“我的意思是：你之所以想结束生命，是因为你不懂得拥有一笔大财产可以取得一切享乐。莫雷尔，我的财产差不多有一亿，我把它都给你。有了这样的一笔财产，你就可以无往而不利，任凭自己。你有雄心吗？每一种事业你都可以干。任凭自己去干吧！不要紧——只要活下去。”

“伯爵，你已经答应过我的了，”莫雷尔冷冷地说，他掏出怀表说，“已经十一点半了。”

“莫雷尔，你忍心在我的家里，让我亲眼看着你去死吗？”

“那么请让我走吧，”马西米兰说，“不然，我就要以为你爱我，不是为了我而是为了你自己了。”说着他站起身来。

“很好，”基督山说，他的脸上顿时现出光彩，“你执意要死。是的，正如你自己所说的，你的确痛苦万分，只有奇迹才能治愈你的痛苦。坐下，莫雷尔，再等一会儿。”

莫雷尔照他说的做了。伯爵站起身来，用一只悬在他的金链上的钥匙打开一只碗柜，从碗柜里取出一只雕镶得很精致的银质小箱子，箱子的四个角雕镂着四个仰面弯着身子的女人，象征着要飞上天堂去的天使。他把这只银箱放在桌子上，然后打开箱子，取出一只小小的金匣，一按暗纽，匣盖便自动开启了。匣里装着一种稠腻的胶冻，因为匣上装饰着金子、翡翠、红宝石和蓝宝石，映得匣里五彩缤纷，所以看不清这种胶冻的颜色。伯爵用一只镀金的银匙把这种东西舀了一小匙递给莫雷尔，并用坚定的目光盯住他。这时可以看出那种东西是淡绿色的。

“就是你要的东西，”他说，“也就是我答应给你的东西。”

“我从我的心坎里感谢你。”年轻人从伯爵手里接过那只银匙说。

基督山另外又拿了一只银匙浸到金匣里。

“你要干什么，我的朋友？”莫雷尔抓住他地手问道。

“莫雷尔，”他微笑着说，“愿上帝宽恕我！我也象你一样的厌倦了生命，既然有这样一个机会。”

“慢来！”那青年人说。“你，这个世界上有你爱的别人，别人也爱着你，你是有信心和希望的。哦，别跟我一样，在你，这是一种罪。永别了，我的高尚而慷慨的朋友，永别了，我会把你为我所做的一切去告诉瓦朗蒂娜。”

于是，他一面按住伯爵的手，一面慢慢地，但却毫不犹豫地吞下了基督山给他的那种神秘的东西。然后两个人都沉默了。哑巴阿里小心地拿来烟管和咖啡以后便退了出去。渐渐地，石像手里的那几盏灯渐渐地变暗了，莫雷尔觉得房间里的香气似乎也没有以前那样强烈了。基督山坐在他对面的阴影里看着他，莫雷尔只看见伯爵那一对发光的眼睛。一阵巨大的忧伤向年轻人袭来，他的手渐渐放松，房间里的东西渐渐丧失了它们的形状和色彩，昏昏沉沉地，他似乎看见墙上出现了门和门帘。

“朋友，”他喊道，“我觉得我是在死了，谢谢！”他努力想伸出他的手，但那只手却无力地垂落在他的身边。这时，他似乎觉得基督山在那儿微笑，不是看透他心里的秘密时那种奇怪可怕的微笑，而是象一位父亲对一个婴孩的那种慈爱的微笑。同时，伯爵在他的眼睛里变得高大起来，几乎比平常高大了一倍，呈现在红色的帷幕上，他那乌黑的头发掠到后面，他巍巍然地站在那儿，象是一位将在末日审判时惩办恶人的天使一样。莫雷尔软弱无力地倒在圈椅里，一种惬意的麻木感渗入到每一条血管理，他的脑子里呈现出变幻莫测的念头，象是万花筒里的图案一样。他软弱无力地、失去了对外界事物的知觉。他似乎已进入临死以前那种漠然的昏迷状态里了。他希望再紧握一次伯爵的手，但他的手却丝毫不能动弹。他希望同伯爵作最后的告别，但他的舌头笨拙地堵住了他的喉咙，象是一尊雕像嘴巴里的石块一样。他那倦息的眼睛不由自主地闭上了。可是，从他的垂下的眼睑里望出去，他依稀看见一个人影移动，尽管他觉得周围一片昏暗，他还是认出了这个人影是伯爵，他刚去打开了一扇门。

隔壁的房间说得更准确些，是一座神奇的宫殿，立刻有一片灿烂的灯光射进莫雷尔所在大厅的门口。她脸色苍白，带着甜蜜的微笑，象是一位赶走复仇天使的慈爱天使一样，“莫非是天国的大门已经为我打开了吗？”那个垂死的人想道，“那位天使真象是我失去的那位姑娘啊，”基督山向那青年女子示意到莫雷尔奄奄待毙的那张圈椅旁边来。她合拢双手，脸上带着一个微笑向他走过去。

“瓦朗蒂娜！瓦朗蒂娜！”莫雷尔从灵魂的深处喊道，但他的嘴里却发不出一点声音来。他的全部精力似乎都已集中到内心的激情上去了他叹息了一声，闭上了眼睛。瓦朗蒂娜向他冲过去，他的嘴唇还在翕动。

“他在喊你，”伯爵说，——“你把你的命运寄托在他的身上，死神却想把你们拆开。幸亏我在那儿。我战胜了死神。瓦朗蒂娜，从此以后，你们在人世间永远再不分离了，因为他为了找你已经勇敢地经过死亡了。要是没有我，你们都已死了，我使你们两个重新团圆。愿上帝把我所救的两条性命记在我的账上”

瓦朗蒂娜抓住伯爵的手，带着一种无法抑制的喜悦的冲动把那只手捧到她的嘴唇上吻着。

“哦，再谢谢我吧！”伯爵说，“请你不厌其烦地告诉我：是我恢复了你们的幸福，你不知道我多么需要能确信这一点啊！”

“哦，是的，是的，我真心诚意地感谢你！”瓦朗蒂娜说，“假如你怀疑我这种感激的诚意，那么去找海黛吧！去问问我那亲爱的姐姐海黛吧，自从我们离开法国以来，她就一直和我在讲你，让我耐心地等待今天这个幸福的日子。”

“那么，你爱海黛！”基督山用一种抑制不住的的激动的情绪问。

“哦，是的！我一心一意地爱她。”

“哦，那么！听着，瓦朗蒂娜，”伯爵说，“我想求你做件事。”

“我？天哪，我能有这样的殊荣吗？”

“是的，你刚才称呼海黛叫姐姐。让她真的做你的姐姐吧，瓦朗蒂娜，把你对我的全部感激都给他。请和莫雷尔好好保护她，因为，“伯爵的声音因激动而哽咽了，，“从此以后，她在这个世界上就孤苦伶仃一个人了。”

“孤苦伶仃的一个人！”伯爵身后的一个声音复述说。“为什么呢？”

基督山转过身去，海黛脸色苍白而冷峻不动地站在那儿，带着一种惊讶奇怪的表情望着伯爵。

“因为明天，海黛，你就自由了，可以在社会上取得你应有的地位，你是位公主。你是一位王子的女儿！我要把你父亲的财富和名誉都还给你。”

海黛的脸色更惨白，她把她那两只洁白的手举向天空，含着泪用嘶哑的声音喊道：“那么你要离开我了，大人？”

“海黛！海黛！你还年轻，你很美，忘掉我的名字，去过幸福的生活吧！”

“很好，”海黛说，“你的命令是应该服从的大人。我将忘掉你的名字，去过幸福的生活。”她向后退一步，准备离去。

“哦，天呀！”瓦朗蒂娜喊道，她这时已靠在莫雷尔的身旁，让他的头靠在她的肩上，“你难道看不见她的脸色是多么的苍白吗？你看不见她有多么痛苦吗？”

海黛带着一种令人心碎的表情答道：“你为什么希望他明白我是否痛苦呢？我的妹妹？他是我的主人，而我是他的奴隶，他有权力看不到这些的。”

伯爵听着这拨动他最隐秘的心弦的声音，当他的目光与姑娘的目光相对他感到自己承受不住那耀眼的光芒了。“哦，上帝，”他喊道，“你让我在心里隐约想过的事情难道是真的？海黛，你真的觉得留在我身边很幸福吗？”

“我还年轻，”海黛温柔地答道，“我爱这个你给我安排得这样甜蜜的生活，我不想去死。”

“那么你的意思是，如果我离开你，海黛——”

“是的，我就会死，大人。”

“那么你爱我吗？”

“噢，瓦朗蒂娜！他问我是否爱他。瓦朗蒂娜，告诉他你是否爱马西米兰。”

伯爵觉得他的心在胀大，在狂跳，他张开两臂，海黛高叫一声，扑进他怀里。“噢，是的！”她喊道，“我爱你！我爱你象人家爱一位父亲、兄弟和丈夫一样！我爱你，就象爱生命，爱上帝一样。因为你是世界上最好，最崇高的人。”

“那么，愿一切都如你所希望的，我的天使呀，上帝激励我与敌人奋斗，给了我胜利又不肯让我以苦修生活来结束我的胜利，我曾想惩罚我自己，但上帝宽恕了我！那么爱我吧，海黛！有谁知道呢？也许你的爱会使我忘记那一切该忘记的事情。”

“你是什么意思，大人？”

“我的意思是：你的一句话比二十年漫长的经验给了我更多的启示，这个世界里我只有你了，海黛。因为你，我又将重新开始生活，有了你，我就又可以感受痛苦和幸福了。”

“你听到他说的话吗，瓦朗蒂娜？”海黛喊道，“他说，有了我他又可以感到痛苦——可我，为了他是宁愿献出自己的生命的。”

伯爵静静地想了一会儿。“难道我已发现了真理了吗？”他说，“但不论这究竟是补偿或是惩罚，总之，我接受了我的命运。来吧，海黛，来吧！”于是他搂住那姑娘的腰，和瓦朗蒂娜握了握手，便走开了。

又过了大约一小时内，瓦朗蒂娜焦急地默不作声地凝视着莫雷尔，终于，她觉得他的心跳动了，他的嘴里吐出一丝微弱的气息，这气息宣布生命又回到年轻人的肌体里了。不含任何表情的，然后渐渐恢复视觉了，随着视觉的恢复，烦恼又来了。“哦”，他绝望地喊道，“伯爵骗了我，我还活着。”

于是他伸手到桌子上，抓起一把小刀。

“亲爱的！”瓦朗蒂娜带着可爱的微笑喊道，“醒一醒看看我呀。”

莫雷尔发出一声大叫，他如痴如狂充满疑惑、象是看到了天堂的景象，感到头晕目眩似的跪了下去。

第二天早晨，在天色破晓的时候，瓦朗蒂娜和莫雷尔手挽着手的海边散步，瓦朗蒂娜把一切都告诉了莫雷尔。最后，以及怎么奇迹般让她知道事情的真相，他如何揭露那桩罪行，将她救活，而别人则都认为她死了。

他们刚才是发现了岩洞的门开着，从洞门里出来的，此刻最后的几颗夜星依旧在那淡青色的晨空上烁烁地发光。这时莫雷尔看见一个人站在岩石堆中，那个人象在等待他们招呼，他把那个人指给瓦朗蒂娜看。

“啊！那是贾可布，”她说、“是游船的船长。”于是她招手叫他走过来。

“你有事和我们说话吗？莫雷尔问道。

“伯爵有一封信要给你们。”

“伯爵的信？”他们俩都惊异地说。

“是的，请看吧。”

莫雷尔拆开信念道：——

“我亲爱的马西米兰，——岛边为你们停着一只小帆船。贾可布会带你们到里窝去，那里诺瓦蒂埃先生正在等着他的孙女儿，他希望在他领他的孙女到圣坛前去以前，能先为你们祝福，我的朋友，这个洞里的一切，我在香榭丽舍大道的房子，以及我在黎港的别墅，都是爱德蒙·唐太斯送给莫雷尔船主的儿子的结婚礼物。也请维尔福小姐接受其中的一半，因为，她的父亲现在已成了一个疯子，她的弟弟已在九月间和他的母亲一同去世，我想请她把她从她父亲和她弟弟那儿继承来的那笔财产捐赠给穷人。莫雷尔，告诉那位你将终生眷顾的天使，请她时时为一个人祈祷，那个人，象撒旦一样，一度曾自以为可与上帝匹敌；但现在，他已带着基督徒的自卑承认只有上帝拥有至高无上的权力和无穷的智慧。或许那些祈祷可以减轻他心里所感到的内疚。至于你，莫雷尔，我对你说一句知心话。世界上既无所谓快乐或也无所谓痛苦；只有一种状况与另一种状况的比较，如此而已。只有体验过不幸的人才能体会最大的快乐。莫雷尔，我们必须体验过死的痛苦，才能体会到生的快乐。

所以，我心爱的孩子们，享受生命的快乐吧！永远不要忘记，直至上帝揭露人的未来图景的那一天以前，人类的一切智慧就包含在这四个字里面：‘等待’和‘希望’。

你的朋友基督山伯爵爱德蒙·唐太斯。”

看了这封信，瓦朗蒂娜才知道她父亲的疯和她弟弟的死，在读这封信的时候，她的脸色变得苍白，从胸膛里发出一声悲痛的叹息，悄无声息但也同样令人心碎的泪珠从她的脸颊上滚下来，她的幸福是付出了昂贵的代价的。

莫雷尔不安地向四周张望。“但是，”他说，“伯爵太慷慨啦，哪怕我只有微薄的财产，瓦朗蒂娜也会很满足的。伯爵在哪儿，朋友？领我去见他。”

贾可布伸手指着远方的地平线。

“你是什么意思？”瓦朗蒂娜问道，“伯爵在哪儿？海黛在哪儿？”

“瞧！”贾可布说。

两个年轻人的眼睛向水手所指的地方望去，在远处海天相接的地方，他们看见一小片白色的帆，小得象海鸟的翅膀。

“他走了！”莫雷尔说，“他走了！别了，我的朋友！别了，我的父亲！”

“他走了！”瓦朗蒂娜也低声地说，“别了，我的朋友！别了，我的姐姐！”

“有谁知道，我们是否还能再见到他呢？”莫雷尔含着眼泪说。

“我的朋友，”瓦朗蒂娜答道，“伯爵刚才不是告诉我们了吗？人类的一切智慧是包含在这四个字里面的：‘等待’和‘希望’！”

（全书完）