They traveled for hours, covering league after league, without exchanging a single word. Morrel sat lost in his grief while Monte Cristo watched him.
Finally, the Count spoke. "Morrel, do you regret coming with me?"
"No, Count. But leaving Paris..."
"If I thought you could find happiness in Paris, I would have left you there."
"Valentine rests within those city walls. Leaving Paris feels like losing her all over again."
"Maximilian," the Count said gently, "the friends we lose don't lie buried in the earth. They're buried in our hearts, and they travel with us wherever we go. I carry two such friends always, the one who gave me life, and the one who gave me knowledge. Their spirits live in me. I consult them when I'm uncertain, and any good I do comes from their guidance. Listen to your own heart, Morrel. Ask it whether you should stay so gloomy and distant around me."
"My friend," Maximilian replied heavily, "my heart is full of sorrow and promises me nothing but more pain."
