you said truly; the way was opened for you unexpectedly; an Englishman visited Toulon, who had vowed to rescue two men from infamy, and his choice fell on you and your companion; you received a second fortune, money and tranquillity were restored to you; and you, who had been condemned to a felon's life, might live as other men. Then, wretched creature! then you tempted God a third time. 'I have not enough,' you said, when you had more than you before possessed, and you committed a third crime, without reason, without excuse. God is wearied, he has punished you."
Caderousse was fast sinking. "Give me drink," said he: "I thirst—I burn!" Monte-Cristo gave him a glass of water. "And yet that villain, Benedetto, will escape!"
"No one, I tell you, will escape; Benedetto will be punished."
"Then, you, too, will be punished, for you did not do your duty as a priest—you should have prevented Benedetto from killing me."
"I?" said the count, with a smile which petrified the dying man, "when you had just broken your knife against the coat of mail which protected my breast! Yet, perhaps, if I had found you humble and penitent, I might have prevented Benedetto from killing you; but I found you proud and blood-thirsty, and I left you in the hands of God."
"I do not believe there is a God!" howled Caderousse; "you do not believe it: you lie—you lie!"
"Silence!" said the abbé; "you will force the last drop of blood from your veins. What! you do not believe in God when he is striking you dead? you will not believe in him, who requires but a prayer, a word, a tear, and he will forgive? God, who might have directed the assassin's dagger so as to end your career in a moment, has given you this quarter of an hour for repentance. Reflect, then, wretched man, and repent."
"No," said Caderousse, "no; I will not repent: there is no God, there is no Providence—all comes by chance."
"There is a Providence, there is a God," said Monte-Cristo, "of which you are a striking proof, as you lie in utter despair, denying him; while I stand before you, rich, happy, safe, and supplicating that God in whom you endeavor not to believe, while in your heart you still believe in him."
"But who are you, then?" asked Caderousse, fixing his dying eyes on the count.
"Look well at me!" said Monte-Cristo, putting the light near his face.
"Well! the abbé—the Abbé Busoni." Monte-Cristo took off the wig which disfigured him, and let fall his black hair, which added so much to the beauty of his pallid features.
