The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre Dumas

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СКАЧАТЬ all before me this moment.”

      “Was it not his betrothal feast?”

      “It was; and the feast that began so gaily had a very sorrowful ending: a commissary of police, followed by four soldiers, entered and Dantès was arrested.”

      “Yes, and up to this point I know all,” said the priest. “Dantès himself only knew that which personally concerned him, for he never beheld again the five persons I have named to you, nor heard mention of any one of them.”

      “Well, when Dantès was arrested, M. Morrel hastened to obtain the particulars, and they were very sad. The old man returned alone to his home, folded up his wedding suit with tears in his eyes, and paced up and down his chamber the whole day, and would not go to bed at all, for I was underneath him and heard him walking the whole night; and for myself, I assure you I could not sleep either, for the grief of the poor father gave me great uneasiness, and every step he took went to my heart as really as if his foot had pressed against my breast.

      “The next day, Mercédès came to implore the protection of M. de Villefort; she did not obtain it, however, and went to visit the old man; when she saw him so miserable and heart-broken, having passed a sleepless night, and not touched food since the previous day, she wished him to go with her that she might take care of him; but the old man would not consent.

      “‘No,’ was the old man’s reply, ‘I will not leave this house, for my poor dear boy loves me better than anything in the world; and if he gets out of prison he will come and see me the first thing, and what would he think if I did not wait here for him?’

      “I heard all this from the window, for I was anxious that Mercédès should persuade the old man to accompany her, for his footsteps over my head night and day did not leave me a moment’s repose.”

      “But did you not go upstairs and try to console the poor old man?” asked the abbé.

      “Ah, sir!” replied Caderousse, “we cannot console those who will not be consoled, and he was one of these; besides, I know not why, but he seemed to dislike seeing me. One night, however, I heard his sobs, and I could not resist my desire to go up to him; but when I reached his door he was no longer weeping, but praying: I cannot now repeat to you, sir, all the eloquent words and imploring language he made use of; it was more than piety, it was more than grief: and I, who am no canter and hate the Jesuits, said then to myself, ‘It is really well, and I am very glad that I have not any children, for if I were a father and felt such excessive grief as the old man does, and did not find in my memory or heart all he is now saying, I should throw myself into the sea at once, for I could not bear it.’”

      “Poor father!” murmured the priest.

      “From day to day he lived on alone, and more and more solitary. M. Morrel and Mercédès came to see him, but his door was closed; and although I was certain he was at home he would not make any answer. One day, when, contrary to his custom, he had admitted Mercédès, and the poor girl, in spite of her own grief and despair, endeavoured to console him, he said to her:

      “‘Be assured, my dear daughter, he is dead; and instead of expecting him, it is he who is awaiting us; I am quite happy, for I am the oldest, and of course shall see him first.’

      “However well disposed one may be, after a time one leaves off seeing people who are in sorrow; they make one melancholy: and so at last, old Dantès was left all to himself. I only saw from time to time strangers go up to him and come down again with some bundle they tried to hide; but I guessed what these bundles were, and he sold by degrees what he had to pay for his subsistence.

      “At length, the poor old fellow reached the end of all he had; he owed three quarters’ rent, and they threatened to turn him out; he begged for another week, which was granted to him. I know this, because the landlord came into my apartment when he left his. For the three first days I heard him walking about as usual, but on the fourth I heard him no longer. I then resolved to go up to him at all risks. The door was closed, but I looked through the keyhole, and saw him so pale and haggard, that believing him very ill I went and told M. Morrel, and then ran on to Mercédès. They both came immediately. M. Morrel brought a doctor, and the doctor said it was an affection of the stomach, and ordered him a limited diet. I was there, too, and I never shall forget the old man’s smile at this prescription. From that time he opened his door; he had an excuse for not eating any more, as the doctor had put him on a diet.”

      The abbé uttered a kind of groan.

      “The story interests you, does it not, sir?” inquired Caderousse.

      “Yes,” replied the abbé, “it is very affecting.”

      “Mercédès came again, and she found him so altered that she was even more anxious than before to have him taken to her own abode. This was M. Morrel’s wish also, who would fain have conveyed the old man against his consent; but the old man resisted and cried so, that they were actually frightened. Mercédès remained, therefore, by his bedside, and M. Morrel went away, making a sign to the Catalan that he had left his purse on the chimney-piece. But availing himself of the doctor’s order, the old man would not take any sustenance; at length (after nine days’ despair and fasting), the old man died, cursing those who had caused his misery, and saying to Mercédès:

      “‘If you ever see my Edmond again, tell him I die blessing him.’”

      The abbé rose from his chair, made two turns round the chamber, and pressed his trembling hand against his parched throat.

      “And you believe he died———”

      “Of hunger, sir, of hunger,” said Caderousse; “I am as certain of it as that we two are Christians.”

      The abbé with a shaking hand seized a glass of water that was standing by him half full, swallowed it at one gulp, and then resumed his seat with red eyes and pale cheeks.

      “This was, indeed, a horrid event,” said he, in a hoarse voice.

      “The more so, sir, as it was men’s and not God’s doing.”

      “Tell me of those men,” said the abbé, “and remember, too,” he added, in a voice that was nearly menacing in its tone, “you have promised to tell me everything. Tell me, therefore, who are these men who have killed the son with despair, and the father with famine?”

      “Two men jealous of him, sir; one from love, and the other ambition,—Fernand and Danglars.”

      “Say, how was this jealousy manifested?”

      “They denounced Edmond as a Bonapartist agent.”

      “Which of the two denounced him? which was the real delinquent?”

      “Both, sir; one with a letter, and the other put it in the post.”

      “And where was this letter written?”

      “At La Réserve, the day before the festival of the betrothing.”

      “‘Twas so, then—‘twas so, then,” murmured the abbé; “oh! Faria! Faria! how well did you judge men and things!”

      “What did you please to say, sir?” asked Caderousse.

      “Nothing, nothing,” replied the priest, “go on.”

      “It СКАЧАТЬ