betrothed."
"Sometimes one and the same thing," said Morrel, with a smile.
"Not with us, sir," replied Dantes.
"Well, well, my dear Edmond," continued the owner, "don't let me detain
you. You have managed my affairs so well that I ought to allow you all
the time you require for your own. Do you want any money?"
"No, sir; I have all my pay to take--nearly three months' wages."
"You are a careful fellow, Edmond."
"Say I have a poor father, sir."
"Yes, yes, I know how good a son you are, so now hasten away to see
your father. I have a son too, and I should be very wroth with those who
detained him from me after a three months' voyage."
"Then I have your leave, sir?"
"Yes, if you have nothing more to say to me."
"Nothing."
"Captain Leclere did not, before he died, give you a letter for me?"
"He was unable to write, sir. But that reminds me that I must ask your
leave of absence for some days."
"To get married?"
"Yes, first, and then to go to Paris."
"Very good; have what time you require, Dantes. It will take quite six
weeks to unload the cargo, and we cannot get you ready for sea until
three months after that; only be back again in three months, for the
Pharaon," added the owner, patting the young sailor on the back, "cannot
sail without her captain."
"Without her captain!" cried Dantes, his eyes sparkling with animation;
"pray mind what you say, for you are touching on the most secret wishes
of my heart. Is it really your intention to make me captain of the
Pharaon?"
"If I were sole owner we'd shake hands on it now, my dear Dantes,
and call it settled; but I have a partner, and you know the Italian
proverb--Chi ha compagno ha padrone--'He who has a partner has a
master.' But the thing is at least half done, as you have one out of two
votes. Rely on me to procure you the other; I will do my best."
"Ah, M. Morrel," exclaimed the young seaman, with tears in his eyes,
and grasping the owner's hand, "M. Morrel, I thank you in the name of my
father and of Mercedes."
"That's all right, Edmond. There's a providence that watches over the
deserving. Go to your father: go and see Mercedes, and afterwards come
to me."
"Shall I row you ashore?"
"No, thank you; I shall remain and look over the accounts with Danglars.
Have you been satisfied with him this voyage?"
"That is according to the sense you attach to the question, sir. Do you
mean is he a good comrade? No, for I think he never liked me since the
day when I was silly enough, after a little quarrel we had, to propose
to him to stop for ten minutes at the island of Monte Cristo to settle
the dispute--a proposition which I was wrong to suggest, and he quite
right to refuse. If you mean as responsible agent when you ask me the
question, I believe there is nothing to say against him, and that you
will be content with the way in which he has performed his duty."
"But tell me, Dantes, if you had command of the Pharaon should you be
glad to see Danglars remain?"
"Captain or mate, M. Morrel, I shall always have the greatest respect
for those who possess the owners' confidence."
"That's right, that's right, Dantes! I see you are a thoroughly good
fellow, and will detain you no longer. Go, for I see how impatient you
are."
"Then I have leave?"
"Go, I tell you."
"May I have the use of your skiff?"
"Certainly."
"Then, for the present, M. Morrel, farewell, and a thousand thanks!"
"I hope soon to see you again, my dear Edmond. Good luck to you."
The young sailor jumped into the skiff, and sat down in the stern
sheets, with the order that he be put ashore at La Canebiere. The two
oarsmen bent to their work, and the little boat glided away as rapidly
as possible in the midst of the thousand vessels which choke up the
narrow way which leads between the two rows of ships from the mouth of
the harbor to the Quai d'Orleans.
The shipowner, smiling, followed him with his eyes until he saw him
spring out on the quay and disappear in the midst of the throng, which
from five o'clock in the morning until nine o'clock at night, swarms
in the famous street of La Canebiere,--a street of which the modern
Phocaeans are so proud that they say with all the gravity in the world,
and with that accent which gives so much character to what is said, "If
Paris had La Canebiere, Paris would be a second Marseilles." On turning
round the owner saw Danglars behind him, apparently awaiting orders,
but in reality also watching the young sailor,--but there was a great
difference in the expression of the two men who thus followed the
movements of Edmond Dantes.
Chapter 2. Father and Son.
We will leave Danglars struggling with the demon of hatred, and
endeavoring to insinuate in the ear of the shipowner some evil
suspicions against his comrade, and follow Dantes, who, after having
traversed La Canebiere, took the Rue de Noailles, and entering a small
house, on the left of the Allees de Meillan, rapidly ascended four
flights of a dark staircase, holding the baluster with one hand, while
with the other he repressed the beatings of his heart, and paused before
a half-open door, from which he could see the whole of a small room.
This room was occupied by Dantes' father. The news of the arrival of the
Pharaon had not yet reached the old man, who, mounted on a chair, was
amusing himself by training with trembling hand the nasturtiums and
sprays of clematis that clambered over the trellis at his window.
Suddenly, he felt an arm thrown around his body, and a well-known voice
behind him exclaimed, "Father--dear father!"
The old man uttered a cry, and turned round; then, seeing his son, he
fell into his arms, pale and trembling.
"What ails you, my dearest father? Are you ill?" inquired the young man,
much alarmed.
"No, no, my dear Edmond--my boy--my son!--no; but I did not expect you;
and joy, the surprise of seeing you so suddenly--Ah, I feel as if I were
going to die."
"Come, come, cheer up, my dear father! 'Tis I--really I! They say joy
never hurts, and so I came to you without any warning. Come now, do
smile, instead of looking at me so solemnly. Here I am back again, and
we are going to be happy."
"Yes, yes, my boy, so we will--so we will," replied the old man; "but
how shall we be happy? Shall you never leave me again? Come, tell me all
the good fortune that has befallen you."
"God forgive me," said the young man, "for rejoicing at happiness
derived from the misery of others, but, Heaven knows, I did not seek
this good fortune; it has happened, and I really cannot pretend to
lament it. The good Captain Leclere is dead, father, and it is probable
that, with the aid of M. Morrel, I shall have his place. Do you
understand, father? Only imagine me a captain at twenty, with a hundred
louis pay, and a share in the profits! Is this not more than a poor
sailor like me could have hoped for?"
"Yes, my dear boy," replied the old man, "it is very fortunate."
"Well, then, with the first money I touch, I mean you to have a small
house, with a garden in which to plant clematis, nasturtiums, and
honeysuckle. But what ails you, father? Are you not well?"
"'Tis nothing, nothing; it will soon pass away"--and as he said so the
old man's strength failed him, and he fell backwards.
"Come, come," said the young man, "a glass of wine, father, will revive
you. Where do you keep your wine?"
"No, no; thanks. You need not look for it; I do not want it," said the
old man.
"Yes, yes, father, tell me where it is," and he opened two or three
cupboards.
"It is no use," said the old man, "there is no wine."
"What, no wine?" said Dantes, turning pale, and looking alternately
at the hollow cheeks of the old man and the empty cupboards. "What, no
wine? Have you wanted money, father?"
"I want nothing now that I have you," said the old man.
"Yet," stammered Dantes, wiping the perspiration from his brow,--"yet I
gave you two hundred francs when I left, three months ago."
"Yes, yes, Edmond, that is true, but you forgot at that time a little
debt to our neighbor, Caderousse. He reminded me of it, telling me if
I did not pay for you, he would be paid by M. Morrel; and so, you see,
lest he might do you an injury"--
"Well?"
"Why, I paid him."
"But," cried Dantes, "it was a hundred and forty francs I owed
Caderousse."
"Yes," stammered the old man.
"And you paid him out of the two hundred francs I left you?"
The old man nodded.
"So that you have lived for three months on sixty francs," muttered
Edmond.
"You know how little I require," said the old man.
"Heaven pardon me," cried Edmond, falling on his knees before his
father.
"What are you doing?"
"You have wounded me to the heart."
"Never mind it, for I see you once more," said the old man; "and now
it's all over--everything is all right again."
"Yes, here I am," said the young man, "with a promising future and a
little money. Here, father, here!" he said, "take this--take it, and
send for something immediately." And he emptied his pockets on the
table, the contents consisting of a dozen gold pieces, five or six
five-franc pieces, and some smaller coin. The countenance of old Dantes
brightened.
"Whom does this belong to?" he inquired.
"To me, to you, to us! Take it; buy some provisions; be happy, and
to-morrow we shall have more."
"Gently, gently," said the old man, with a smile; "and by your leave I
will use your purse moderately, for they would say, if they saw me buy
too many things at a time, that I had been obliged to await your return,
in order to be able to purchase them."
"Do as you please; but, first of all, pray have a servant, father. I
will not have you left alone so long. I have some smuggled coffee and
most capital tobacco, in a small chest in the hold, which you shall have
to-morrow. But, hush, here comes somebody."
"'Tis Caderousse, who has heard of your arrival, and no doubt comes to
congratulate you on your fortunate return."
"Ah, lips that say one thing, while the heart thinks another," murmured
Edmond. "But, never mind, he is a neighbor who has done us a service on
a time, so he's welcome."
As Edmond paused, the black and bearded head of Caderousse appeared at
the door. He was a man of twenty-five or six, and held a piece of cloth,
which, being a tailor, he was about to make into a coat-lining.
"What, is it you, Edmond, back again?" said he, with a broad
Marseillaise accent, and a grin that displayed his ivory-white teeth.
"Yes, as you see, neighbor Caderousse; and ready to be agreeable to you
in any and every way," replied Dantes, but ill-concealing his coldness
under this cloak of civility.
"Thanks--thanks; but, fortunately, I do not want for anything; and it
chances that at times there are others who have need of me." Dantes made
a gesture. "I do not allude to you, my boy. No!--no! I lent you money,
and you returned it; that's like good neighbors, and we are quits."
"We are never quits with those who oblige us," was Dantes' reply; "for
when we do not owe them money, we owe them gratitude."
"What's the use of mentioning that? What is done is done. Let us talk
of your happy return, my boy. I had gone on the quay to match a piece of
mulberry cloth, when I met friend Danglars. 'You at Marseilles?'--'Yes,'
says he.
"'I thought you were at Smyrna.'--'I was; but am now back again.'
"'And where is the dear boy, our little Edmond?'
"'Why, with his father, no doubt,' replied Danglars. And so I came,"
added Caderousse, "as fast as I could to have the pleasure of shaking
hands with a friend."
"Worthy Caderousse!" said the old man, "he is so much attached to us."
"Yes, to be sure I am. I love and esteem you, because honest folks are
so rare. But it seems you have come back rich, my boy," continued the
tailor, looking askance at the handful of gold and silver which Dantes
had thrown on the table.
The young man remarked the greedy glance which shone in the dark eyes of
his neighbor. "Eh," he said, negligently, "this money is not mine. I was
expressing to my father my fears that he had wanted many things in my
absence, and to convince me he emptied his purse on the table. Come,
father" added Dantes, "put this money back in your box--unless neighbor
Caderousse wants anything, and in that case it is at his service."
"No, my boy, no," said Caderousse. "I am not in any want, thank God,
my living is suited to my means. Keep your money--keep it, I say;--one
never has too much;--but, at the same time, my boy, I am as much obliged
by your offer as if I took advantage of it."
"It was offered with good will," said Dantes.
"No doubt, my boy; no doubt. Well, you stand well with M. Morrel I
hear,--you insinuating dog, you!"
"M. Morrel has always been exceedingly kind to me," replied Dantes.
"Then you were wrong to refuse to dine with him."
"What, did you refuse to dine with him?" said old Dantes; "and did he
invite you to dine?"
