“Edmond Dantes, 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 Haidee?”
“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 Haidee — 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.’”
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