Caderousse’s desperate cries echoed through the mansion halls. "Help! Soone help !"
Monte Cristo rushed toward the sound. "What happened?"
"Help..." Caderousse gasped, blood pooling beneath him. "I’ve been... murdered..."
"Stay calm. We’re here now."
"Too late..." The wounded man’s voice weakened. "You ca... to watch die. So much blood..." His eyes rolled back as consciousness slipped away.
Monte Cristo and his servant Ali carefully carried the bleeding man into a nearby room. With a simple gesture, Monte Cristo signaled Ali to remove Caderousse’s blood-soaked clothing. As the fabric fell away, the count examined the brutal stab wounds covering the thief’s body.
"My God," Monte Cristo whispered, his voice heavy with aning. "Sotis divine justice takes its ti... but when it arrives, it strikes perfectly."
Ali waited for his next command.
"Bring the chief prosecutor imdiately, Monsieur de Villefort. He lives in the wealthy district. On your way out, wake the building manager and tell him to fetch a doctor."
Ali disappeared into the night, leaving Monte Cristo alone with the unconscious burglar.
When Caderousse’s eyes finally fluttered open again, the count stood over him with an expression that mixed pity with sothing darker. His lips moved silently, as if praying.
"A doctor..." Caderousse croaked. "Please... get a doctor..."
"Already sent for."
"I know I’m dying." The thief coughed, spraying red droplets. "But maybe... maybe they can keep alive long enough to give my statent."
"Statent against whom?"
"Against the bastard who murdered ."
"Did you see his face?"
"Yes. It was Benedetto."
"The young man from your criminal crew?"
"That’s him."
"Your partner?"
"Yeah." Caderousse’s laugh turned into a wet cough. "The son of a bitch gave the floor plans to this mansion. Said I could rob it, maybe even kill you and he’d inherit everything. Or maybe you’d kill and I’d be out of his way. Either way, he wins. He was waiting outside... ambushed ... stabbed in the dark."
"The prosecutor is on his way too."
"He won’t make it in ti. I can feel my life draining away like water from a cracked cup."
"Wait." Monte Cristo left the room and returned monts later carrying a small glass bottle.
Caderousse’s desperate eyes stayed locked on the doorway, praying for the doctor’s arrival. "Hurry... I’m fading again..."
Monte Cristo leaned close and let three drops from the bottle fall onto Caderousse’s pale, blood-stained lips.
The dying man drew a shuddering breath. His eyes widened. "Oh... oh God, that’s incredible. More! Give more!"
"Two more drops would kill you instantly," Monte Cristo said calmly.
"Then find soone! I need to expose that murderer before I die!"
"Should I write down your testimony? You can sign it."
"Yes, yes!" Caderousse’s eyes glead with vengeful determination, his last emotion burning bright.
Monte Cristo took out paper and pen, writing carefully:
"I die here tonight, murdered by Benedetto of the criminal underworld. We served ti together in prison. Inmate number 59."
"Quickly!" Caderousse gasped. "I won’t be able to sign soon..."
Monte Cristo handed him the pen. Caderousse gathered every ounce of his remaining strength, scrawled his signature, and collapsed back against the bed.
"You’ll tell them everything else, won’t you?" he wheezed. "Tell them... he’s using a fake na now. Andrea Cavalcanti. Staying at the luxury hotel... the Princes Hotel. Oh God... I’m dying..."
He passed out again. Monte Cristo held the bottle under his nose, and the pungent sll dragged him back to consciousness. Even at death’s door, his hatred burned.
"You’ll tell them what I said, right?"
"Yes. And much more."
"What else?"
"I’ll tell them Benedetto gave you those floor plans hoping you and I would kill each other. I’ll tell them he even sent a warning note about your break-in. When I read it, since I wasn’t ho tonight, I stayed awake waiting for you."
"And they’ll execute him for this, won’t they?" A savage hope lit Caderousse’s dying face. "Promise that. Let die with that hope."
"I’ll also tell them," the count continued, "that Benedetto followed you. Watched your every move. When he saw you leave the mansion, he ran to hide behind the corner wall."
"You saw all that?"
"Rember what I told you earlier? ’If you make it ho safely tonight, I’ll know God has forgiven you. And then I’ll forgive you too.’"
Caderousse’s eyes widened in horror. He pushed himself up on his elbows, trembling. "You knew! You knew I’d be killed leaving here, and you didn’t warn !"
"No. Because I saw God placing his justice in Benedetto’s hands. I would never interfere with divine will."
"God’s justice?" Caderousse spat blood. "Don’t talk to about justice! If God were just, thousands who escape punishnt would suffer!"
"Patience," Monte Cristo said, his tone making the dying man shiver despite his fever. "Have patience."
Caderousse stared at him with confused terror.
"Besides," the count added, "God shows rcy to everyone, just as he showed rcy to you. He’s a father first, a judge second."
"You actually believe in God?" Caderousse asked, genuinely surprised.
"If I hadn’t believed before this mont," Monte Cristo said quietly, "seeing you here would force to believe."
Caderousse raised his clenched, bloody fists toward the ceiling.
"Listen carefully." The count extended his hand over the wounded man like a priest giving final rites. "This is what the God you’re denying with your last breaths has done for you. He gave you health, strength, steady work, even friends. A life any man could live peacefully with a clear conscience. Instead of appreciating these rare gifts, what did you do? You chose laziness and alcoholism. Then, in a drunken rage, you betrayed your best friend."
"Help!" Caderousse cried. "I need a surgeon, not a sermon! Maybe I’m not dying, maybe they can still save !"
"Your wounds are fatal. Without those three drops I gave you, you’d already be dead. So listen."
"What kind of priest are you?" Caderousse muttered. "You’re pushing a dying man toward despair instead of comforting him..."
"Listen!" the count commanded. "When you betrayed your friend, God didn’t strike you down. He warned you. Poverty found you. You’d already wasted half your life coveting things you could have earned honestly. You were planning cris, making excuses about being poor, when God perford a miracle through . I brought you a fortune, life-changing money for soone who’d never had anything. But that unexpected windfall wasn’t enough for you, was it? You wanted to double it. How? Through murder! You succeeded, and then God took it all away and delivered you to prison."
"I didn’t want to kill that man," Caderousse protested weakly. "That was my wife’s idea..."
"Yes," Monte Cristo acknowledged. "And God, not through justice, because his justice would have killed you, but through rcy, spared your life."
"rcy?" Caderousse laughed bitterly. "Sending to prison for life is rcy?"
"You thought so at the ti, you coward! You feared death but celebrated your ’lifeti sentence’ because you told yourself, ’I can escape from prison. I can’t escape from the grave.’ And you were right, the door opened. A wealthy foreigner visited the prison, determined to free two condemned n. He chose you and your criminal partner. You received a second fortune. Money and peace were given back to you. A man sentenced to a criminal’s life got a fresh start. Then, wretch that you are, you tested God a third ti. ’It’s not enough,’ you said, despite having more than before. And you committed a third cri, without reason, without excuse. God grew tired. He’s punished you now."
Caderousse was fading fast. "Water... please... I’m burning up..."
Monte Cristo gave him a glass of water.
"That villain Benedetto will get away with this!" Caderousse gasped.
"No one escapes. Benedetto will be punished."
"Then you should be punished too! You’re supposed to be a holy man, you should have stopped Benedetto from killing !"
"?" The count smiled, and sothing in that smile made the dying man recoil in terror. "You had just tried to stab ! Your knife broke against the protective vest hidden under my clothes! Perhaps if I’d found you humble and repentant, I might have saved you from Benedetto. But I found you proud and bloodthirsty. So I left you in God’s hands."
"There is no God!" Caderousse howled. "You don’t believe it either, you’re lying!"
"Silence," the count said coldly. "You’re forcing the last blood from your veins. You don’t believe in God even as he’s killing you? You won’t believe in the God who only asks for one prayer, one word, one tear to grant forgiveness? God could have let the assassin’s blade pierce your heart instantly. Instead, he gave you these fifteen minutes to repent. Think about that, wretched man. Repent."
"No," Caderousse said. "I won’t repent. There’s no God. No divine plan. Everything is just random chance."
"There is a plan. There is a God." Monte Cristo’s voice rang with certainty. "And you’re the proof, lying here in total despair, denying him, while I stand before you, wealthy, content, safe, praying to the very God you refuse to acknowledge, even though deep in your heart, you still believe."
"But who are you?" Caderousse’s dying eyes focused on the count with sudden intensity. "Who are you really?"
"Look at carefully." Monte Cristo held the lamp close to his own face.
"You look like... the priest... Father Busoni..."
Monte Cristo pulled off the wig that had disguised him. His natural black hair fell around his pale, aristocratic features, transforming his appearance entirely.
"My God," Caderousse breathed. "Except for that black hair... I’d swear you were that English lord... Lord Wilmore..."
"I’m neither Father Busoni nor Lord Wilmore," Monte Cristo said. "Think harder. Don’t you recognize ?"
Sothing in the count’s words sent a shock through Caderousse’s failing system, briefly reviving him.
"Yes..." he whispered. "I think... I have seen you. Known you before..."
"Yes, Caderousse. You have seen . You knew once."
"Then who are you? And if you knew , why are you letting die?"
"Because nothing can save you now. Your wounds are mortal. If it were possible to save you, I would consider it another sign of God’s rcy, and I would try again to restore you. I swear this on my father’s grave."
"Your father’s grave!" So supernatural energy filled Caderousse. He half-raised himself, desperate to see clearly the man making this sacred oath. "Who are you?"
The count had been watching death’s approach. He knew this was the final mont. He leaned over the dying man with a calm, sorrowful expression and whispered sothing.
"I am... I am..."
His barely moving lips ford a na so quietly that even he seed afraid to speak it aloud.
Caderousse, now on his knees with one arm outstretched, tried to pull away. Then he clasped his hands together and raised them with desperate effort.
"Oh my God! My God!" he cried. "Forgive for denying you! You do exist! You’re humanity’s father in heaven and judge on earth! My God, my Lord, I’ve despised you for so long! Forgive ! Accept , O Lord!"
Caderousse sighed deeply and collapsed backward with a final groan. Blood no longer flowed from his wounds.
He was dead.
"One," the count said mysteriously, his eyes fixed on the corpse that death had twisted into sothing barely human.
Ten minutes later, the doctor and prosecutor arrived, one brought by the building manager, the other by Ali. They found Father Busoni praying beside the body.
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