The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre Dumas

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СКАЧАТЬ the shipowner, Morrel, some evil suspicions against his comrade, and follow Dantès; who, after having traversed the Canebière, took the Rue de Noailles, and entering into a small house, situated on the left side of the Allées de Meillan, rapidly ascended four storeys of a dark staircase, holding the baluster in his hand, whilst with the other he repressed the beatings of his heart, and paused before a half-opened door, which revealed all the interior of a small apartment.

      This apartment was occupied by Dantès’ father.

      The news of the arrival of the Pharaon had not yet reached the old man, who, mounted on a chair, was amusing himself with staking some nasturtiums with tremulous hand, which, mingled with clematis, formed a kind of trellis at his window.

      Suddenly he felt an arm thrown round 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 really seem 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 come to you without any warning. Come now, look cheerfully at me, instead of gazing as you do with your eyes so wide. Here I am back again, and we will now be happy.”

      “Yes, yes, my boy, so we will—so we will,” replied the old man, “but how shall we be happy?—Will 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 affect 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, “and much more than you could have expected.”

      “Well, then, with the first money I touch, I mean you to have a small house, with a garden to plant your clematis, your nasturtiums, and your honeysuckles. But what ails you, father? Are not you 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; thank ye. 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 Dantès, 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 you are here,” said the old man.

      “Yet,” stammered Dantès, 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 neighbour 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 Dantès, “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 made a sign in the affirmative.

      “So that you have lived for three months on sixty francs?” muttered the young man.

      “You know how little I require,” said the old man.

      “Heaven pardon me,” cried Edmond, falling on his knees before the old man.

      “What are you doing?”

      “You have wounded my very heart.”

      “Never mind it, for I see you once more,” said the old man; “and now all is forgotten—all is well again.”

      “Yes, here I am,” said the young man, “with a happy prospect 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, whose contents consisted of a dozen pieces of gold, five or six crowns, and some smaller coin.

      The countenance of old Dantès brightened.

      “Whom does this belong to?” he inquired.

      “To me! to you! to us! Take it; buy some provisions; be happy, and tomorrow 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 tomorrow. 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, whilst the heart thinks another,” murmured Edmond. “But never mind, he is a neighbour who has done us a service on a time, so he’s welcome.”

      As Edmond finished his sentence in a low voice, there appeared at the door the black and shock head of Caderousse. He was a man of twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, and held in his hand a morsel of cloth, which, in his capacity as a tailor, he was about to turn into the lining of a coat.

      “What! is it you, Edmond, returned?” said he, with a broad Marseillaise accent, and a grin that displayed his teeth as white as ivory.

      “Yes, as you see, neighbour Caderousse; and ready to be agreeable to you in any and every way,” replied Dantès, but ill concealing his feeling under this appearance 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.” Dantès made a gesture. “I do not allude СКАЧАТЬ