Jon Hagadorn

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 sepulcher.

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 Morel 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 centered 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.