The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre Dumas

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      “Excuse me, M. Morrel, excuse me, if you please; but my first visit is due to my father, though I am not the less grateful for the honour you have done me.”

      “Right, Dantès, quite right. I always knew you were a good son.”

      “And,” inquired Dantès, with some hesitation, “do you know how my father is?”

      “Well, I believe, my dear Edmond, although I have not seen him lately.”

      “Yes, he likes to keep himself shut up in his little room.”

      “That proves, at least, that he has wanted for nothing during your absence.”

      Dantès smiled.

      “My father is proud, sir; and if he had not a meal left, I doubt if he would have asked anything from any one, except God.”

      “Well, then, after this first visit has been made we rely on you.”

      “I must again excuse myself, M. Morrel; for after this first visit has been paid I have another, which I am most anxious to pay.”

      “True, Dantès, I forgot that there was at the Catalans some one who expects you no less impatiently than your father—the lovely Mercédès.”

      Dantès blushed.

      “Ah! ah!” said the shipowner, “that does not astonish me, for she has been to me three times, inquiring if there were any news of the Pharaon. Peste! Edmond, you have a very handsome mistress!”

      “She is not my mistress,” replied the young sailor gravely, “she is my betrothed.”

      “Sometimes one and the same thing,” said Morrel, with a smile.

      “Not with us, sir,” replied Dantès.

      “Well, well, my dear Edmond,” continued the owner, “do not 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 haste 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, Dantès. 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 Dantès, 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 nominate me captain of the Pharaon?”

      “If I were sole owner I would nominate you this moment, my dear Dantès, and say it is settled; but I have a partner, and you know the Italian proverb—Che a compagno a padrone—‘He who has a partner has a master.’ But the thing is at least half done, as you have one out of two voices. 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 Mercédès.”

      “Good, good! Edmond. There’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft that keeps a good watch for good fellows! Go to your father: go and see Mercédès, and come to me afterwards.”

      “Shall I row you on shore?”

      “No, I 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 Isle 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 that 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, Dantès, if you had the command of the Pharaon, should you have pleasure in retaining Danglars?”

      “Captain or mate, M. Morrel,” replied Dantès, “I shall always have the greatest respect for those who possess our owners’ confidences.”

      “Good! good! Dantès. I see you are a thorough 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, desiring to be put ashore at the Canebière. The two rowers 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 harbour to the Quai d’Orléans.

      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, choke up this famous street of La Canebière, of which the modern Phocéens are so proud, and 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 Canebière, Paris would be a second Marseilles.” On turning round, the owner saw Danglars behind him, who apparently attended his orders; but in reality followed, as he did, the young sailor with his eyes, only there was a great difference in the expression of the looks of the two men who thus watched the movements of Edmond Dantès.

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