The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre Dumas

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СКАЧАТЬ race of animals. His rider was a priest, dressed in black, and wearing a three-cornered hat; and, spite of the ardent rays of a noonday sun, the pair came on at a tolerably smart trot.

      Having arrived before the Pont du Gard, the horse stopped, but whether for his own pleasure or that of his rider would have been difficult to say. However that might have been, the measure appeared reciprocally agreeable, since no demur was observable in either. The priest, dismounting, led his steed by the bridle in search of some place to which he could secure him. Availing himself of a handle that projected from a half-fallen door, he tied the animal safely, patted him kindly, and, having drawn a red cotton handkerchief from his pocket, wiped away the perspiration that streamed from his brow; then, advancing to the door, struck thrice with the end of his iron-shod stick. At this unusual sound, a huge black dog came rushing to meet the daring assailant of his ordinarily tranquil abode, snarling and displaying his sharp, white teeth with a determined hostility that abundantly proved how little he was accustomed to society. At that moment a heavy footstep was heard descending the wooden staircase that led from the upper floor, and, with many bows and courteous smiles, mine host of the Pont du Gard welcomed the blessing Heaven had sent him in the shape of a weary traveller; while, retreating into the house with backward step, he besought his guest would honour him by entering also.

      “You are welcome, sir, most welcome!” repeated the astonished Caderousse, in his blandest tones. “Now, then, Margontin,” cried he, speaking to the dog, “will you be quiet? Pray don’t heed him, sir!—he only barks, he never bites! I make no doubt a glass of good wine would be acceptable this dreadfully hot day!” Then perceiving for the first time the description of traveller he had to entertain, Caderousse hastily exclaimed, “A thousand pardons, your reverence! I really did not observe whom I had the honour to receive under my poor roof. What would you please to have, M. l’Abbé? What refreshment can I offer you? All I have is at your service.”

      The priest gazed on the individual addressing him with a long and searching gaze—there even seemed like a disposition on his part to court a similar scrutiny on the part of the innkeeper; then, remarking in the countenance of the latter no other expression than extreme surprise at his own want of attention to an inquiry so courteously worded, he deemed it as well to terminate this dumb show, and therefore said, speaking with a strong Italian accent:

      “You are, I presume, M. Caderousse?”

      “Your reverence is quite correct,” answered the host, even more surprised at the question than he had been by the silence which had prefaced it; “I am Gaspard Caderousse, at your service.”

      “Gaspard Caderousse!” rejoined the priest. “Yes, that agrees both with the baptismal appellation and surname of the individual I allude to. You formerly lived, I believe, in the Allées de Meillan, on the fourth floor of a small house situated there?”

      “I did.”

      “Where you followed the business of a tailor?”

      “True, I was a tailor, till the trade fell off so as not to afford me a living. Then it is so very hot at Marseilles, that really I could bear it no longer; and it is my idea that all the respectable inhabitants will be obliged to follow my example and quit it. But talking of heat, is there nothing I can offer you by way of refreshment?”

      “Yes; let me have a bottle of your best wine, and then, with your permission, we will resume our conversation from where we left off.”

      “As you please, M. l’Abbé,” said Caderousse, who, anxious not to lose the present opportunity of finding a customer for one of the few bottles of vin de Cahors still remaining in his possession, hastily raised a trap-door in the floor of the apartment they were in, which served both as parlour and kitchen.

      Upon his issuing forth from his subterranean retreat at the expiration of five minutes, he found the abbé seated on a species of stool, leaning his elbow on a table, while Margontin, whose animosity seemed appeased by the traveller having pronounced the unusual command for refreshments, had crept up to him, and had established himself very comfortably between his knees, his long, skinny neck resting on his lap, while his dim eye was fixed earnestly on the traveller’s face.

      “Are you quite alone?” inquired the guest, as Caderousse placed before him the bottle of wine and a glass.

      “Quite, quite alone,” replied the man,—“or, at least, all but so, M. l’Abbé; for my poor wife, who is the only person in the house besides myself, is laid up with illness, and unable to render me the least assistance, poor thing!”

      “You are married, then?” said the priest, with a species of interest, glancing round as he spoke at the scanty style of the accommodations and humble fittings-up of the apartment.

      “Ah, M. l’Abbé,” said Caderousse, with a sigh, “it is easy to perceive I am not a rich man; but in this world a man does not thrive the better for being honest.”

      The abbé fixed on him a searching, penetrating glance.

      “I can certainly say that much for myself,” repeated the innkeeper, fairly sustaining the scrutiny of the abbé’s gaze; “I can boast with truth of being an honest man; and,” continued he significantly, shaking his head, “that is more than every one can say nowadays.”

      “So much the better for you, if what you assert be true,” said the abbé: “for I am firmly persuaded that, sooner or later, the good will be rewarded, and the wicked punished.”

      “Such words as those belong to your profession, M. l’Abbé,” answered Caderousse, “and you do well to repeat them; but,” added he, with a bitter expression of countenance, “you cannot make people believe them in opposition to what passes before them every day, when the reverse takes place, and it is the wicked man who prospers, and the honest, deserving man who suffers.”

      “You are wrong to speak thus,” said the abbé; “and, perhaps, I may, in my own person, be able to prove to you how completely you are in error in coming to so mischievous and dangerous a conclusion.”

      “What mean you?” inquired Caderousse, with a look of surprise.

      “In the first place it is requisite I should be satisfied you are the person I am in search of!”

      “What proofs do you require?”

      “Did you in the year 1814 or 1815 know anything of a young sailor named Edmond Dantès?”

      “Did I? I should think I did. Poor dear Edmond! Why, Edmond Dantès and myself were intimate friends!” exclaimed Caderousse, whose countenance assumed an almost purple hue, as he caught the penetrating gaze of the abbé fixed on him, while the clear, calm eye of the questioner seemed to cover him with confusion.

      “You remind me,” said the priest, “that the young man, concerning whom I asked you, was said to bear the name of Edmond.”

      “Said to bear the name!” repeated Caderousse, becoming excited and eager. “Why, he was so called as truly as I myself bore the appellation of Gaspard Caderousse; but, M. l’Abbé, tell me, I pray, what has become of poor Edmond. Did you know him? Is he alive and at liberty? Is he prosperous and happy?”

      “He died a more wretched, hopeless, heart-broken prisoner than the felons who pay the penalty of their crimes at the galleys of Toulon.”

      A deadly paleness succeeded the deep suffusion which had before spread itself over the countenance of Caderousse, who turned away, but not so much so as to prevent the priest’s observing СКАЧАТЬ