Respawned as The Count of Glow-Up-Chapter 247: The Burial: II

Morrel, clearly disturbed, came to meet Monte Cristo, less with the intention of welcoming him than of blocking his entry.

"Good grief," Monte Cristo said, rubbing his elbow, "it’s all your servant’s fault. Your stairs are so polished, it’s like walking on glass."

"Are you hurt, sir?" Morrel asked coldly.

"I don’t think so. But what are you doing in here? You were writing?"

"Me?"

"Your fingers are stained with ink."

"Ah, yes. I was writing. I do sometimes, soldier though I am."

Monte Cristo advanced into the room. Maximilian had no choice but to let him pass, though he followed closely.

"So you were writing?" Monte Cristo said with a searching look.

"I already told you I was," Morrel replied.

The count’s eyes swept the room. "Your pistols are beside your desk," he said, pointing to the weapons on the table.

"I’m about to depart on a journey," Morrel replied dismissively.

"My friend," Monte Cristo said in a tone of exquisite tenderness.

"Sir?"

"My dear Maximilian, don’t make a hasty decision. I’m begging you."

"Me, make a hasty decision?" Morrel said, shrugging. "Is there anything extraordinary about taking a journey?"

"Maximilian," the count said firmly, "let’s both drop the act. You’re no more fooling me with that false calmness than I’m deceiving you with my casual concern. You understand, don’t you, that to have done what I’ve done, breaking that glass, intruding on a friend’s solitude, you understand I must have been driven by real worry. Or rather, by terrible certainty. Morrel, you’re planning to kill yourself."

"Really, Count," Morrel said with a shudder, "what gave you that idea?"

"I’m telling you that you’re about to destroy yourself, and here’s my proof." He approached the desk, removed the sheet of paper Morrel had placed over his letter, and picked up the unfinished note.

Morrel lunged forward to tear it from him, but Monte Cristo, anticipating this, seized his wrist with an iron grip.

"You want to kill yourself," the count said. "You’ve written it down."

"So what?" Morrel said, his expression shifting from false calm to violence. "What if I do intend to turn this pistol on myself? Who will stop me? Who dares stop me? All my hopes are destroyed, my heart is shattered, my life is a burden. Everything around me is sad and mournful. The world has become distasteful, and human voices only torment me. It would be a mercy to let me die, because if I live, I’ll lose my mind. When I tell you all this with heartfelt anguish, can you really say I’m wrong? Can you actually prevent me from ending my miserable existence? Tell me, sir, would you have the courage to do that?"

"Yes, Morrel," Monte Cristo said with a calmness that contrasted starkly with the young man’s agitation. "Yes, I would."

"You?" Morrel exclaimed with increasing anger and bitterness. "You, who deceived me with false hopes? Who comforted me with empty promises when I could have at least seen her die in my arms, if not saved her? You, who claim to understand everything, even hidden knowledge, who play the part of some guardian angel on earth, couldn’t even find an antidote to the poison given to a young girl? Honestly, sir, you’d inspire my pity if you weren’t so hateful to me right now."

"Morrel-"

"Yes! You told me to drop the mask, and I will. Be satisfied! When you spoke to me at the cemetery, I answered you, my heart had softened. When you arrived here, I let you in. But since you’re abusing my trust, since you’ve created new torture after I thought I’d exhausted every kind, then, Count of Monte Cristo, my so-called benefactor, and the supposed universal guardian, be satisfied! You’ll witness your friend’s death!"

With a maniacal laugh, Morrel rushed toward the pistols again.

"And I repeat, you will not commit suicide."

"Then stop me!" Morrel struggled again, but like before, he couldn’t break free from the count’s iron grip.

"I will stop you."

"And who are you to claim this tyrannical right over free, rational people?"

"Who am I?" Monte Cristo repeated. "Listen, I am the only man in the world with the right to say to you, ’Morrel, your father’s son will not die today.’"

With an expression of majesty and power, Monte Cristo advanced with folded arms toward the young man. Involuntarily overcome by this commanding presence, Morrel took a step back.

"Why do you mention my father?" he stammered. "Why mix his memory with today’s affairs?"

"Because I am the one who saved your father’s life when he wanted to destroy himself, just as you do now. Because I am the man who sent the purse to your young sister and saved the Pharaon for old Morrel. Because I am Edmond Dantès, who held you on my knees when you were a child."

Morrel staggered back another step, breathless and crushed. Then all his strength gave way, and he fell to his knees at Monte Cristo’s feet.

His nature underwent a complete and sudden transformation. He leaped up, rushed from the room toward the stairs, shouting energetically, "Julie! Julie! Emmanuel! Emmanuel!"

Monte Cristo tried to follow, but Maximilian blocked the door, closing it on the count, he would have died rather than release the handle. Julie, Emmanuel, and some servants ran up in alarm at Maximilian’s cries.

Morrel seized their hands and threw open the door, exclaiming through choking sobs, "On your knees! On your knees! He is our benefactor, the savior of our father! He is-"

He was about to say "Edmond Dantès," but the count grabbed his arm and stopped him.

Julie threw herself into the count’s arms. Emmanuel embraced him like a guardian angel. Morrel fell to his knees again, pressing his forehead to the ground.

Then the iron-hearted man felt his chest swell. A flame seemed to rush from his throat to his eyes. He bent his head and wept.

For a while, nothing could be heard in the room but a succession of sobs as their grateful hearts sent prayers heavenward.

Julie had barely recovered from her deep emotion when she rushed from the room, descended to the floor below, and ran into the drawing room with childlike joy. She retrieved the crystal globe that covered the purse given by the unknown benefactor of the Allées de Meillan all those years ago.

Meanwhile, Emmanuel said to the count in a broken voice, "Oh, Count, how could you? Hearing us speak so often of our unknown benefactor, seeing us pay such homage and gratitude to his memory, how could you hide your identity from us for so long? It was cruel to us, and, dare I say it, to you as well."

"Listen, my friends," the count said. "I can call you that since we’ve truly been friends for eleven years. The discovery of this secret came about because of a great event that you must never know about. I wanted to bury it in my heart for my entire life, but your brother Maximilian forced it from me with violence that I’m sure he now regrets."

He turned and saw Morrel, still on his knees, collapsed into an armchair. He added in a low voice, pressing Emmanuel’s hand meaningfully, "Watch over him."

"Why?" the young man asked, surprised.

"I can’t explain. Just watch over him."

Emmanuel looked around the room and spotted the pistols. His eyes rested on the weapons, and he pointed to them questioningly. Monte Cristo nodded.

Emmanuel moved toward the pistols.

"Leave them," Monte Cristo said.

Walking to Morrel, he took his hand. The young man’s violent agitation had given way to profound stupor. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Julie returned, holding the silk purse, tears of joy rolling down her cheeks like dewdrops on a rose.

"Here is the relic," she said. "Don’t think it will be any less dear to us now that we know our benefactor’s face!"