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After Mercedes had left Monte Cristo, he fell into profound glooht seeetic ue "What?" said he to hihts were nearly burnt out, and the servants aiting impatiently in the anteroo, which I have reared with so le touch, a word, a breath! Yes, this self, of whoht so much, of whoeons of the Chateau d'If, and whoreat, will be but a lump of clay to-ret; for is not the destruction of the vital principle, the repose to which everything is tending, to which every unhappy being aspires,--is not this the repose ofto attain by the painful process of starvation when Faria appeared in eon? What is death for me? One step farther into rest,--two, perhaps, into silence

"No, it is not existence, then, that I regret, but the ruin of projects so slowly carried out, so laboriously fraht it would be propitious It is not God's will that they should be accomplished This burden, alht to bear to the end, was too great for th, and I was compelled to lay it down in the ain become a fatalist, whom fourteen years of despair and ten of hope had rendered a believer in providence? And all this--all this, because ; because it has awakened and has begun to beat again, because I have yielded to the pain of the emotion excited in my breast by a wo each moment more absorbed in the anticipation of the dreadful sacrifice for the morrohich Mercedes had accepted, "yet, it is ih selfishness consent to th; it is impossible that she can carry to such a point maternal love, or rather deliriueration No, she must have conceived some pathetic scene; she will come and throw herself between us; and ould be sublime here will there appear ridiculous" The blush of pride h his mind "Ridiculous?" repeated he; "and the ridicule will fall on me I ridiculous? No, I would rather die"