The Count Of Monte Cristo (Unabridged). Alexandre Dumas

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СКАЧАТЬ and the words sank deeply into my memory.”

      “Repeat it to me.”

      Dantes paused a moment, then said, “This is it, word for word: `The king’s attorney is informed by a friend to the throne and religion, that one Edmond Dantes, mate on board the Pharaon, this day arrived from Smyrna, after having touched at Naples and Porto-Ferrajo, has been intrusted by Murat with a packet for the usurper; again, by the usurper, with a letter for the Bonapartist Club in Paris. This proof of his guilt may be procured by his immediate arrest, as the letter will be found either about his person, at his father’s residence, or in his cabin on board the Pharaon.’” The abbe shrugged his shoulders. “The thing is clear as day,” said he; “and you must have had a very confiding nature, as well as a good heart, not to have suspected the origin of the whole affair.”

      “Do you really think so? Ah, that would indeed be infamous.”

      “How did Danglars usually write?”

      “In a handsome, running hand.”

      “And how was the anonymous letter written?”

      “Backhanded.” Again the abbe smiled. “Disguised.”

      “It was very boldly written, if disguised.”

      “Stop a bit,” said the abbe, taking up what he called his pen, and, after dipping it into the ink, he wrote on a piece of prepared linen, with his left hand, the first two or three words of the accusation. Dantes drew back, and gazed on the abbe with a sensation almost amounting to terror.

      “How very astonishing!” cried he at length. “Why your writing exactly resembles that of the accusation.”

      “Simply because that accusation had been written with the left hand; and I have noticed that” —

      “What?”

      “That while the writing of different persons done with the right hand varies, that performed with the left hand is invariably uniform.”

      “You have evidently seen and observed everything.”

      “Let us proceed.”

      “Oh, yes, yes!”

      “Now as regards the second question.”

      “I am listening.”

      “Was there any person whose interest it was to prevent your marriage with Mercedes?”

      “Yes; a young man who loved her.”

      “And his name was” —

      “Fernand.”

      “That is a Spanish name, I think?”

      “He was a Catalan.”

      “You imagine him capable of writing the letter?”

      “Oh, no; he would more likely have got rid of me by sticking a knife into me.”

      “That is in strict accordance with the Spanish character; an assassination they will unhesitatingly commit, but an act of cowardice, never.”

      “Besides,” said Dantes, “the various circumstances mentioned in the letter were wholly unknown to him.”

      “You had never spoken of them yourself to any one?”

      “To no one.”

      “Not even to your mistress?”

      “No, not even to my betrothed.”

      “Then it is Danglars.”

      “I feel quite sure of it now.”

      “Wait a little. Pray, was Danglars acquainted with Fernand?”

      “No — yes, he was. Now I recollect” —

      “What?”

      “To have seen them both sitting at table together under an arbor at Pere Pamphile’s the evening before the day fixed for my wedding. They were in earnest conversation. Danglars was joking in a friendly way, but Fernand looked pale and agitated.”

      “Were they alone?”

      “There was a third person with them whom I knew perfectly well, and who had, in all probability made their acquaintance; he was a tailor named Caderousse, but he was very drunk. Stay! — stay! — How strange that it should not have occurred to me before! Now I remember quite well, that on the table round which they were sitting were pens, ink, and paper. Oh, the heartless, treacherous scoundrels!” exclaimed Dantes, pressing his hand to his throbbing brows.

      “Is there anything else I can assist you in discovering, besides the villany of your friends?” inquired the abbe with a laugh.

      “Yes, yes,” replied Dantes eagerly; “I would beg of you, who see so completely to the depths of things, and to whom the greatest mystery seems but an easy riddle, to explain to me how it was that I underwent no second examination, was never brought to trial, and, above all, was condemned without ever having had sentence passed on me?”

      “That is altogether a different and more serious matter,” responded the abbe. “The ways of justice are frequently too dark and mysterious to be easily penetrated. All we have hitherto done in the matter has been child’s play. If you wish me to enter upon the more difficult part of the business, you must assist me by the most minute information on every point.”

      “Pray ask me whatever questions you please; for, in good truth, you see more clearly into my life than I do myself.”

      “In the first place, then, who examined you, — the king’s attorney, his deputy, or a magistrate?”

      “The deputy.”

      “Was he young or old?”

      “About six or seven and twenty years of age, I should say.”

      “So,” answered the abbe. “Old enough to be ambitions, but too young to be corrupt. And how did he treat you?”

      “With more of mildness than severity.”

      “Did you tell him your whole story?”

      “I did.”

      “And did his conduct change at all in the course of your examination?”

      “He did appear much disturbed when he read the letter that had brought me into this scrape. He seemed quite overcome by my misfortune.”

      “By your misfortune?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then you feel quite sure that it was your misfortune he deplored?”

      “He gave me one great proof of his sympathy, at any rate.”

      “And that?”

      “He СКАЧАТЬ