he has been as lucky as the rest; no doubt he is as rich as Danglars,
as high in station as Fernand. I only, as you see, have remained poor,
wretched, and forgotten."
"You are mistaken, my friend," replied the abbe; "God may seem sometimes
to forget for a time, while his justice reposes, but there always comes
a moment when he remembers--and behold--a proof!" As he spoke, the
abbe took the diamond from his pocket, and giving it to Caderousse,
said,--"Here, my friend, take this diamond, it is yours."
"What, for me only?" cried Caderousse, "ah, sir, do not jest with me!"
"This diamond was to have been shared among his friends. Edmond had one
friend only, and thus it cannot be divided. Take the diamond, then, and
sell it; it is worth fifty thousand francs, and I repeat my wish that
this sum may suffice to release you from your wretchedness."
"Oh, sir," said Caderousse, putting out one hand timidly, and with the
other wiping away the perspiration which bedewed his brow,--"Oh, sir, do
not make a jest of the happiness or despair of a man."
"I know what happiness and what despair are, and I never make a jest of
such feelings. Take it, then, but in exchange--"
Caderousse, who touched the diamond, withdrew his hand. The abbe smiled.
"In exchange," he continued, "give me the red silk purse that M. Morrel
left on old Dantes' chimney-piece, and which you tell me is still in
your hands." Caderousse, more and more astonished, went toward a large
oaken cupboard, opened it, and gave the abbe a long purse of faded red
silk, round which were two copper runners that had once been gilt. The
abbe took it, and in return gave Caderousse the diamond.
"Oh, you are a man of God, sir," cried Caderousse; "for no one knew that
Edmond had given you this diamond, and you might have kept it."
"Which," said the abbe to himself, "you would have done." The abbe
rose, took his hat and gloves. "Well," he said, "all you have told me is
perfectly true, then, and I may believe it in every particular."
"See, sir," replied Caderousse, "in this corner is a crucifix in holy
wood--here on this shelf is my wife's testament; open this book, and I
will swear upon it with my hand on the crucifix. I will swear to you by
my soul's salvation, my faith as a Christian, I have told everything to
you as it occurred, and as the recording angel will tell it to the ear
of God at the day of the last judgment!"
"'Tis well," said the abbe, convinced by his manner and tone that
Caderousse spoke the truth. "'Tis well, and may this money profit you!
Adieu; I go far from men who thus so bitterly injure each other."
The abbe with difficulty got away from the enthusiastic thanks of
Caderousse, opened the door himself, got out and mounted his horse, once
more saluted the innkeeper, who kept uttering his loud farewells, and
then returned by the road he had travelled in coming. When Caderousse
turned around, he saw behind him La Carconte, paler and trembling more
than ever. "Is, then, all that I have heard really true?" she inquired.
"What? That he has given the diamond to us only?" inquired Caderousse,
half bewildered with joy; "yes, nothing more true! See, here it is." The
woman gazed at it a moment, and then said, in a gloomy voice, "Suppose
it's false?" Caderousse started and turned pale. "False!" he muttered.
"False! Why should that man give me a false diamond?"
"To get your secret without paying for it, you blockhead!"
Caderousse remained for a moment aghast under the weight of such an
idea. "Oh!" he said, taking up his hat, which he placed on the red
handkerchief tied round his head, "we will soon find out."
"In what way?"
"Why, the fair is on at Beaucaire, there are always jewellers from Paris
there, and I will show it to them. Look after the house, wife, and I
shall be back in two hours," and Caderousse left the house in haste,
and ran rapidly in the direction opposite to that which the priest had
taken. "Fifty thousand francs!" muttered La Carconte when left alone;
"it is a large sum of money, but it is not a fortune."
Chapter 28. The Prison Register.
The day after that in which the scene we have just described had taken
place on the road between Bellegarde and Beaucaire, a man of about
thirty or two and thirty, dressed in a bright blue frock coat, nankeen
trousers, and a white waistcoat, having the appearance and accent of
an Englishman, presented himself before the mayor of Marseilles. "Sir,"
said he, "I am chief clerk of the house of Thomson & French, of Rome. We
are, and have been these ten years, connected with the house of Morrel
& Son, of Marseilles. We have a hundred thousand francs or thereabouts
loaned on their securities, and we are a little uneasy at reports that
have reached us that the firm is on the brink of ruin. I have come,
therefore, express from Rome, to ask you for information."
"Sir," replied the mayor. "I know very well that during the last four or
five years misfortune has seemed to pursue M. Morrel. He has lost four
or five vessels, and suffered by three or four bankruptcies; but it
is not for me, although I am a creditor myself to the amount of
ten thousand francs, to give any information as to the state of his
finances. Ask of me, as mayor, what is my opinion of M. Morrel, and I
shall say that he is a man honorable to the last degree, and who has
up to this time fulfilled every engagement with scrupulous punctuality.
This is all I can say, sir; if you wish to learn more, address yourself
to M. de Boville, the inspector of prisons, No. 15, Rue de Nouailles;
he has, I believe, two hundred thousand francs in Morrel's hands, and if
there be any grounds for apprehension, as this is a greater amount than
mine, you will most probably find him better informed than myself."
The Englishman seemed to appreciate this extreme delicacy, made his bow
and went away, proceeding with a characteristic British stride towards
the street mentioned. M. de Boville was in his private room, and the
Englishman, on perceiving him, made a gesture of surprise, which seemed
to indicate that it was not the first time he had been in his presence.
As to M. de Boville, he was in such a state of despair, that it was
evident all the faculties of his mind, absorbed in the thought which
occupied him at the moment, did not allow either his memory or his
imagination to stray to the past. The Englishman, with the coolness of
his nation, addressed him in terms nearly similar to those with which
he had accosted the mayor of Marseilles. "Oh, sir," exclaimed M. de
Boville, "your fears are unfortunately but too well founded, and you see
before you a man in despair. I had two hundred thousand francs placed
in the hands of Morrel & Son; these two hundred thousand francs were the
dowry of my daughter, who was to be married in a fortnight, and these
two hundred thousand francs were payable, half on the 15th of this
month, and the other half on the 15th of next month. I had informed M.
Morrel of my desire to have these payments punctually, and he has been
here within the last half-hour to tell me that if his ship, the Pharaon,
did not come into port on the 15th, he would be wholly unable to make
this payment."
"But," said the Englishman, "this looks very much like a suspension of
payment."
"It looks more like bankruptcy!" exclaimed M. de Boville despairingly.
The Englishman appeared to reflect a moment, and then said,--"From which
it would appear, sir, that this credit inspires you with considerable
apprehension?"
"To tell you the truth, I consider it lost."
"Well, then, I will buy it of you!"
"You?"
"Yes, I!"
"But at a tremendous discount, of course?"
"No, for two hundred thousand francs. Our house," added the Englishman
with a laugh, "does not do things in that way."
"And you will pay"--
"Ready money." And the Englishman drew from his pocket a bundle of
bank-notes, which might have been twice the sum M. de Boville feared
to lose. A ray of joy passed across M. de Boville's countenance, yet
he made an effort at self-control, and said,--"Sir, I ought to tell
you that, in all probability, you will not realize six per cent of this
sum."
"That's no affair of mine," replied the Englishman, "that is the affair
of the house of Thomson & French, in whose name I act. They have,
perhaps, some motive to serve in hastening the ruin of a rival firm.
But all I know, sir, is, that I am ready to hand you over this sum in
exchange for your assignment of the debt. I only ask a brokerage."
"Of course, that is perfectly just," cried M. de Boville. "The
commission is usually one and a half; will you have two--three--five per
cent, or even more? Whatever you say."
"Sir," replied the Englishman, laughing, "I am like my house, and do not
do such things--no, the commission I ask is quite different."
"Name it, sir, I beg."
"You are the inspector of prisons?"
"I have been so these fourteen years."
"You keep the registers of entries and departures?"
"I do."
"To these registers there are added notes relative to the prisoners?"
"There are special reports on every prisoner."
"Well, sir, I was educated at home by a poor devil of an abbe, who
disappeared suddenly. I have since learned that he was confined in the
Chateau d'If, and I should like to learn some particulars of his death."
"What was his name?"
"The Abbe Faria."
"Oh, I recollect him perfectly," cried M. de Boville; "he was crazy."
"So they said."
"Oh, he was, decidedly."
"Very possibly; but what sort of madness was it?"
"He pretended to know of an immense treasure, and offered vast sums to
the government if they would liberate him."
"Poor devil!--and he is dead?"
"Yes, sir, five or six months ago--last February."
"You have a good memory, sir, to recollect dates so well."
"I recollect this, because the poor devil's death was accompanied by a
singular incident."
"May I ask what that was?" said the Englishman with an expression
of curiosity, which a close observer would have been astonished at
discovering in his phlegmatic countenance.
"Oh dear, yes, sir; the abbe's dungeon was forty or fifty feet distant
from that of one of Bonaparte's emissaries,--one of those who had
contributed the most to the return of the usurper in 1815,--a very
resolute and very dangerous man."
"Indeed!" said the Englishman.
"Yes," replied M. de Boville; "I myself had occasion to see this man
in 1816 or 1817, and we could only go into his dungeon with a file of
soldiers. That man made a deep impression on me; I shall never forget
his countenance!" The Englishman smiled imperceptibly.
"And you say, sir," he interposed, "that the two dungeons"--
"Were separated by a distance of fifty feet; but it appears that this
Edmond Dantes"--
"This dangerous man's name was"--
"Edmond Dantes. It appears, sir, that this Edmond Dantes had procured
tools, or made them, for they found a tunnel through which the prisoners
held communication with one another."
"This tunnel was dug, no doubt, with an intention of escape?"
"No doubt; but unfortunately for the prisoners, the Abbe Faria had an
attack of catalepsy, and died."
"That must have cut short the projects of escape."
"For the dead man, yes," replied M. de Boville, "but not for the
survivor; on the contrary, this Dantes saw a means of accelerating his
escape. He, no doubt, thought that prisoners who died in the Chateau
d'If were interred in an ordinary burial-ground, and he conveyed the
dead man into his own cell, took his place in the sack in which they had
sewed up the corpse, and awaited the moment of interment."
"It was a bold step, and one that showed some courage," remarked the
Englishman.
"As I have already told you, sir, he was a very dangerous man; and,
fortunately, by his own act disembarrassed the government of the fears
it had on his account."
"How was that?"
"How? Do you not comprehend?"
"No."
"The Chateau d'If has no cemetery, and they simply throw the dead into
the sea, after fastening a thirty-six pound cannon-ball to their feet."
"Well," observed the Englishman as if he were slow of comprehension.
"Well, they fastened a thirty-six pound ball to his feet, and threw him
into the sea."
"Really!" exclaimed the Englishman.
"Yes, sir," continued the inspector of prisons. "You may imagine the
amazement of the fugitive when he found himself flung headlong over the
rocks! I should like to have seen his face at that moment."
"That would have been difficult."
"No matter," replied De Boville, in supreme good-humor at the certainty
of recovering his two hundred thousand francs,--"no matter, I can fancy
it." And he shouted with laughter.
"So can I," said the Englishman, and he laughed too; but he laughed as
the English do, "at the end of his teeth."
"And so," continued the Englishman who first gained his composure, "he
was drowned?"
"Unquestionably."
"So that the governor got rid of the dangerous and the crazy prisoner at
