Chapter Chapter 5 · The Marriage Feast

The morning’s sun rose clear and resplendent, touching the foamy waves

into a network of ruby-tinted light.

The feast had been made ready on the second floor at La Réserve, with

whose arbor the reader is already familiar. The apartment destined for

the purpose was spacious and lighted by a number of windows, over each

of which was written in golden letters for some inexplicable reason the

name of one of the principal cities of France; beneath these windows a

wooden balcony extended the entire length of the house. And although

the entertainment was fixed for twelve o’clock, an hour previous to

that time the balcony was filled with impatient and expectant guests,

consisting of the favored part of the crew of the _Pharaon_, and other

personal friends of the bridegroom, the whole of whom had arrayed

themselves in their choicest costumes, in order to do greater honor to

the occasion.

Various rumors were afloat to the effect that the owners of the

_Pharaon_ had promised to attend the nuptial feast; but all seemed

unanimous in doubting that an act of such rare and exceeding

condescension could possibly be intended.

Danglars, however, who now made his appearance, accompanied by

Caderousse, effectually confirmed the report, stating that he had

recently conversed with M. Morrel, who had himself assured him of his

intention to dine at La Réserve.

In fact, a moment later M. Morrel appeared and was saluted with an

enthusiastic burst of applause from the crew of the _Pharaon_, who

hailed the visit of the shipowner as a sure indication that the man

whose wedding feast he thus delighted to honor would ere long be first

in command of the ship; and as Dantès was universally beloved on board

his vessel, the sailors put no restraint on their tumultuous joy at

finding that the opinion and choice of their superiors so exactly

coincided with their own.

With the entrance of M. Morrel, Danglars and Caderousse were despatched

in search of the bridegroom to convey to him the intelligence of the

arrival of the important personage whose coming had created such a

lively sensation, and to beseech him to make haste.

Danglars and Caderousse set off upon their errand at full speed; but

ere they had gone many steps they perceived a group advancing towards

them, composed of the betrothed pair, a party of young girls in

attendance on the bride, by whose side walked Dantès’ father; the whole

brought up by Fernand, whose lips wore their usual sinister smile.

Neither Mercédès nor Edmond observed the strange expression of his

countenance; they were so happy that they were conscious only of the

sunshine and the presence of each other.

Having acquitted themselves of their errand, and exchanged a hearty

shake of the hand with Edmond, Danglars and Caderousse took their

places beside Fernand and old Dantès,—the latter of whom attracted

universal notice.

The old man was attired in a suit of glistening watered silk, trimmed

with steel buttons, beautifully cut and polished. His thin but wiry

legs were arrayed in a pair of richly embroidered clocked stockings,

evidently of English manufacture, while from his three-cornered hat

depended a long streaming knot of white and blue ribbons. Thus he came

along, supporting himself on a curiously carved stick, his aged

countenance lit up with happiness, looking for all the world like one

of the aged dandies of 1796, parading the newly opened gardens of the

Luxembourg and Tuileries.

Beside him glided Caderousse, whose desire to partake of the good

things provided for the wedding party had induced him to become

reconciled to the Dantès, father and son, although there still lingered

in his mind a faint and unperfect recollection of the events of the

preceding night; just as the brain retains on waking in the morning the

dim and misty outline of a dream.

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As Danglars approached the disappointed lover, he cast on him a look of

deep meaning, while Fernand, as he slowly paced behind the happy pair,

who seemed, in their own unmixed content, to have entirely forgotten

that such a being as himself existed, was pale and abstracted;

occasionally, however, a deep flush would overspread his countenance,

and a nervous contraction distort his features, while, with an agitated

and restless gaze, he would glance in the direction of Marseilles, like

one who either anticipated or foresaw some great and important event.

Dantès himself was simply, but becomingly, clad in the dress peculiar

to the merchant service—a costume somewhat between a military and a

civil garb; and with his fine countenance, radiant with joy and

happiness, a more perfect specimen of manly beauty could scarcely be

imagined.

Lovely as the Greek girls of Cyprus or Chios, Mercédès boasted the same

bright flashing eyes of jet, and ripe, round, coral lips. She moved

with the light, free step of an Arlesienne or an Andalusian. One more

practiced in the arts of great cities would have hid her blushes

beneath a veil, or, at least, have cast down her thickly fringed

lashes, so as to have concealed the liquid lustre of her animated eyes;

but, on the contrary, the delighted girl looked around her with a smile

that seemed to say: “If you are my friends, rejoice with me, for I am

very happy.”

As soon as the bridal party came in sight of La Réserve, M. Morrel

descended and came forth to meet it, followed by the soldiers and

sailors there assembled, to whom he had repeated the promise already

given, that Dantès should be the successor to the late Captain Leclere.

Edmond, at the approach of his patron, respectfully placed the arm of

his affianced bride within that of M. Morrel, who, forthwith conducting

her up the flight of wooden steps leading to the chamber in which the

feast was prepared, was gayly followed by the guests, beneath whose

heavy tread the slight structure creaked and groaned for the space of

several minutes.

“Father,” said Mercédès, stopping when she had reached the centre of

the table, “sit, I pray you, on my right hand; on my left I will place

him who has ever been as a brother to me,” pointing with a soft and

gentle smile to Fernand; but her words and look seemed to inflict the

direst torture on him, for his lips became ghastly pale, and even

beneath the dark hue of his complexion the blood might be seen

retreating as though some sudden pang drove it back to the heart.

During this time, Dantès, at the opposite side of the table, had been

occupied in similarly placing his most honored guests. M. Morrel was

seated at his right hand, Danglars at his left; while, at a sign from

Edmond, the rest of the company ranged themselves as they found it most

agreeable.

Then they began to pass around the dusky, piquant, Arlesian sausages,

and lobsters in their dazzling red cuirasses, prawns of large size and

brilliant color, the echinus with its prickly outside and dainty morsel

within, the clovis, esteemed by the epicures of the South as more than

rivalling the exquisite flavor of the oyster, North. All the

delicacies, in fact, that are cast up by the wash of waters on the

sandy beach, and styled by the grateful fishermen “fruits of the sea.”

“A pretty silence truly!” said the old father of the bridegroom, as he

carried to his lips a glass of wine of the hue and brightness of the

topaz, and which had just been placed before Mercédès herself. “Now,

would anybody think that this room contained a happy, merry party, who

desire nothing better than to laugh and dance the hours away?”

“Ah,” sighed Caderousse, “a man cannot always feel happy because he is

about to be married.”

“The truth is,” replied Dantès, “that I am too happy for noisy mirth;

if that is what you meant by your observation, my worthy friend, you

are right; joy takes a strange effect at times, it seems to oppress us

almost the same as sorrow.”

Danglars looked towards Fernand, whose excitable nature received and

betrayed each fresh impression.

“Why, what ails you?” asked he of Edmond. “Do you fear any approaching

evil? I should say that you were the happiest man alive at this

instant.”

“And that is the very thing that alarms me,” returned Dantès. “Man does

not appear to me to be intended to enjoy felicity so unmixed; happiness

is like the enchanted palaces we read of in our childhood, where

fierce, fiery dragons defend the entrance and approach; and monsters of

all shapes and kinds, requiring to be overcome ere victory is ours. I

own that I am lost in wonder to find myself promoted to an honor of

which I feel myself unworthy—that of being the husband of Mercédès.”

“Nay, nay!” cried Caderousse, smiling, “you have not attained that

honor yet. Mercédès is not yet your wife. Just assume the tone and

manner of a husband, and see how she will remind you that your hour is

not yet come!”

The bride blushed, while Fernand, restless and uneasy, seemed to start

at every fresh sound, and from time to time wiped away the large drops

of perspiration that gathered on his brow.

“Well, never mind that, neighbor Caderousse; it is not worthwhile to

contradict me for such a trifle as that. ’Tis true that Mercédès is not

actually my wife; but,” added he, drawing out his watch, “in an hour

and a half she will be.”

A general exclamation of surprise ran round the table, with the

exception of the elder Dantès, whose laugh displayed the still perfect

beauty of his large white teeth. Mercédès looked pleased and gratified,

while Fernand grasped the handle of his knife with a convulsive clutch.

“In an hour?” inquired Danglars, turning pale. “How is that, my

friend?”

“Why, thus it is,” replied Dantès. “Thanks to the influence of M.

Morrel, to whom, next to my father, I owe every blessing I enjoy, every

difficulty has been removed. We have purchased permission to waive the

usual delay; and at half-past two o’clock the Mayor of Marseilles will

be waiting for us at the city hall. Now, as a quarter-past one has

already struck, I do not consider I have asserted too much in saying,

that, in another hour and thirty minutes Mercédès will have become

Madame Dantès.”

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Fernand closed his eyes, a burning sensation passed across his brow,

and he was compelled to support himself by the table to prevent his

falling from his chair; but in spite of all his efforts, he could not

refrain from uttering a deep groan, which, however, was lost amid the

noisy felicitations of the company.

“Upon my word,” cried the old man, “you make short work of this kind of

affair. Arrived here only yesterday morning, and married today at three

o’clock! Commend me to a sailor for going the quick way to work!”

“But,” asked Danglars, in a timid tone, “how did you manage about the

other formalities—the contract—the settlement?”

“The contract,” answered Dantès, laughingly, “it didn’t take long to

fix that. Mercédès has no fortune; I have none to settle on her. So,

you see, our papers were quickly written out, and certainly do not come

very expensive.” This joke elicited a fresh burst of applause.

“So that what we presumed to be merely the betrothal feast turns out to

be the actual wedding dinner!” said Danglars.

“No, no,” answered Dantès; “don’t imagine I am going to put you off in

that shabby manner. Tomorrow morning I start for Paris; four days to

go, and the same to return, with one day to discharge the commission

entrusted to me, is all the time I shall be absent. I shall be back

here by the first of March, and on the second I give my real marriage

feast.”

This prospect of fresh festivity redoubled the hilarity of the guests

to such a degree, that the elder Dantès, who, at the commencement of

the repast, had commented upon the silence that prevailed, now found it

difficult, amid the general din of voices, to obtain a moment’s

tranquillity in which to drink to the health and prosperity of the

bride and bridegroom.

Dantès, perceiving the affectionate eagerness of his father, responded

by a look of grateful pleasure; while Mercédès glanced at the clock and

made an expressive gesture to Edmond.

Around the table reigned that noisy hilarity which usually prevails at

such a time among people sufficiently free from the demands of social

position not to feel the trammels of etiquette. Such as at the

commencement of the repast had not been able to seat themselves

according to their inclination rose unceremoniously, and sought out

more agreeable companions. Everybody talked at once, without waiting

for a reply and each one seemed to be contented with expressing his or

her own thoughts.

Fernand’s paleness appeared to have communicated itself to Danglars. As

for Fernand himself, he seemed to be enduring the tortures of the

damned; unable to rest, he was among the first to quit the table, and,

as though seeking to avoid the hilarious mirth that rose in such

deafening sounds, he continued, in utter silence, to pace the farther

end of the salon.

Caderousse approached him just as Danglars, whom Fernand seemed most

anxious to avoid, had joined him in a corner of the room.

“Upon my word,” said Caderousse, from whose mind the friendly treatment

of Dantès, united with the effect of the excellent wine he had partaken

of, had effaced every feeling of envy or jealousy at Dantès’ good

fortune,—“upon my word, Dantès is a downright good fellow, and when I

see him sitting there beside his pretty wife that is so soon to be. I

cannot help thinking it would have been a great pity to have served him

that trick you were planning yesterday.”

“Oh, there was no harm meant,” answered Danglars; “at first I certainly

did feel somewhat uneasy as to what Fernand might be tempted to do; but

when I saw how completely he had mastered his feelings, even so far as

to become one of his rival’s attendants, I knew there was no further

cause for apprehension.” Caderousse looked full at Fernand—he was

ghastly pale.

“Certainly,” continued Danglars, “the sacrifice was no trifling one,

when the beauty of the bride is concerned. Upon my soul, that future

captain of mine is a lucky dog! Gad! I only wish he would let me take

his place.”

“Shall we not set forth?” asked the sweet, silvery voice of Mercédès;

“two o’clock has just struck, and you know we are expected in a quarter

of an hour.”

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“To be sure!—to be sure!” cried Dantès, eagerly quitting the table;

“let us go directly!”

His words were re-echoed by the whole party, with vociferous cheers.

At this moment Danglars, who had been incessantly observing every

change in Fernand’s look and manner, saw him stagger and fall back,

with an almost convulsive spasm, against a seat placed near one of the

open windows. At the same instant his ear caught a sort of indistinct

sound on the stairs, followed by the measured tread of soldiery, with

the clanking of swords and military accoutrements; then came a hum and

buzz as of many voices, so as to deaden even the noisy mirth of the

bridal party, among whom a vague feeling of curiosity and apprehension

quelled every disposition to talk, and almost instantaneously the most

deathlike stillness prevailed.

The sounds drew nearer. Three blows were struck upon the panel of the

door. The company looked at each other in consternation.

“I demand admittance,” said a loud voice outside the room, “in the name

of the law!” As no attempt was made to prevent it, the door was opened,

and a magistrate, wearing his official scarf, presented himself,

followed by four soldiers and a corporal. Uneasiness now yielded to the

most extreme dread on the part of those present.

“May I venture to inquire the reason of this unexpected visit?” said M.

Morrel, addressing the magistrate, whom he evidently knew; “there is

doubtless some mistake easily explained.”

“If it be so,” replied the magistrate, “rely upon every reparation

being made; meanwhile, I am the bearer of an order of arrest, and

although I most reluctantly perform the task assigned me, it must,

nevertheless, be fulfilled. Who among the persons here assembled

answers to the name of Edmond Dantès?”

Every eye was turned towards the young man who, spite of the agitation

he could not but feel, advanced with dignity, and said, in a firm

voice:

“I am he; what is your pleasure with me?”

“Edmond Dantès,” replied the magistrate, “I arrest you in the name of

the law!”

“Me!” repeated Edmond, slightly changing color, “and wherefore, I

pray?”

“I cannot inform you, but you will be duly acquainted with the reasons

that have rendered such a step necessary at the preliminary

examination.”

M. Morrel felt that further resistance or remonstrance was useless. He

saw before him an officer delegated to enforce the law, and perfectly

well knew that it would be as unavailing to seek pity from a magistrate

decked with his official scarf, as to address a petition to some cold

marble effigy. Old Dantès, however, sprang forward. There are

situations which the heart of a father or a mother cannot be made to

understand. He prayed and supplicated in terms so moving, that even the

officer was touched, and, although firm in his duty, he kindly said,

“My worthy friend, let me beg of you to calm your apprehensions. Your

son has probably neglected some prescribed form or attention in

registering his cargo, and it is more than probable he will be set at

liberty directly he has given the information required, whether

touching the health of his crew, or the value of his freight.”

“What is the meaning of all this?” inquired Caderousse, frowningly, of

Danglars, who had assumed an air of utter surprise.

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“How can I tell you?” replied he; “I am, like yourself, utterly

bewildered at all that is going on, and cannot in the least make out

what it is about.” Caderousse then looked around for Fernand, but he

had disappeared.

The scene of the previous night now came back to his mind with

startling clearness. The painful catastrophe he had just witnessed

appeared effectually to have rent away the veil which the intoxication

of the evening before had raised between himself and his memory.

“So, so,” said he, in a hoarse and choking voice, to Danglars, “this,

then, I suppose, is a part of the trick you were concerting yesterday?

All I can say is, that if it be so, ’tis an ill turn, and well deserves

to bring double evil on those who have projected it.”

“Nonsense,” returned Danglars, “I tell you again I have nothing

whatever to do with it; besides, you know very well that I tore the

paper to pieces.”

“No, you did not!” answered Caderousse, “you merely threw it by—I saw

it lying in a corner.”

“Hold your tongue, you fool!—what should you know about it?—why, you

were drunk!”

“Where is Fernand?” inquired Caderousse.

“How do I know?” replied Danglars; “gone, as every prudent man ought to

be, to look after his own affairs, most likely. Never mind where he is,

let you and I go and see what is to be done for our poor friends.”

During this conversation, Dantès, after having exchanged a cheerful

shake of the hand with all his sympathizing friends, had surrendered

himself to the officer sent to arrest him, merely saying, “Make

yourselves quite easy, my good fellows, there is some little mistake to

clear up, that’s all, depend upon it; and very likely I may not have to

go so far as the prison to effect that.”

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“Oh, to be sure!” responded Danglars, who had now approached the group,

“nothing more than a mistake, I feel quite certain.”

Dantès descended the staircase, preceded by the magistrate, and

followed by the soldiers. A carriage awaited him at the door; he got

in, followed by two soldiers and the magistrate, and the vehicle drove

off towards Marseilles.

“Adieu, adieu, dearest Edmond!” cried Mercédès, stretching out her arms

to him from the balcony.

The prisoner heard the cry, which sounded like the sob of a broken

heart, and leaning from the coach he called out, “Good-bye, Mercédès—we

shall soon meet again!” Then the vehicle disappeared round one of the

turnings of Fort Saint Nicholas.

“Wait for me here, all of you!” cried M. Morrel; “I will take the first

conveyance I find, and hurry to Marseilles, whence I will bring you

word how all is going on.”

“That’s right!” exclaimed a multitude of voices, “go, and return as

quickly as you can!”

This second departure was followed by a long and fearful state of

terrified silence on the part of those who were left behind. The old

father and Mercédès remained for some time apart, each absorbed in

grief; but at length the two poor victims of the same blow raised their

eyes, and with a simultaneous burst of feeling rushed into each other’s

arms.

Meanwhile Fernand made his appearance, poured out for himself a glass

of water with a trembling hand; then hastily swallowing it, went to sit

down at the first vacant place, and this was, by mere chance, placed

next to the seat on which poor Mercédès had fallen half fainting, when

released from the warm and affectionate embrace of old Dantès.

Instinctively Fernand drew back his chair.

“He is the cause of all this misery—I am quite sure of it,” whispered

Caderousse, who had never taken his eyes off Fernand, to Danglars.

“I don’t think so,” answered the other; “he’s too stupid to imagine

such a scheme. I only hope the mischief will fall upon the head of

whoever wrought it.”

“You don’t mention those who aided and abetted the deed,” said

Caderousse.

“Surely,” answered Danglars, “one cannot be held responsible for every

chance arrow shot into the air.”

“You can, indeed, when the arrow lights point downward on somebody’s

head.”

Meantime the subject of the arrest was being canvassed in every

different form.

“What think you, Danglars,” said one of the party, turning towards him,

“of this event?”

“Why,” replied he, “I think it just possible Dantès may have been

detected with some trifling article on board ship considered here as

contraband.”

“But how could he have done so without your knowledge, Danglars, since

you are the ship’s supercargo?”

“Why, as for that, I could only know what I was told respecting the

merchandise with which the vessel was laden. I know she was loaded with

cotton, and that she took in her freight at Alexandria from Pastret’s

warehouse, and at Smyrna from Pascal’s; that is all I was obliged to

know, and I beg I may not be asked for any further particulars.”

“Now I recollect,” said the afflicted old father; “my poor boy told me

yesterday he had got a small case of coffee, and another of tobacco for

me!”

“There, you see,” exclaimed Danglars. “Now the mischief is out; depend

upon it the custom-house people went rummaging about the ship in our

absence, and discovered poor Dantès’ hidden treasures.”

Mercédès, however, paid no heed to this explanation of her lover’s

arrest. Her grief, which she had hitherto tried to restrain, now burst

out in a violent fit of hysterical sobbing.

“Come, come,” said the old man, “be comforted, my poor child; there is

still hope!”

“Hope!” repeated Danglars.

“Hope!” faintly murmured Fernand, but the word seemed to die away on

his pale agitated lips, and a convulsive spasm passed over his

countenance.

“Good news! good news!” shouted forth one of the party stationed in the

balcony on the lookout. “Here comes M. Morrel back. No doubt, now, we

shall hear that our friend is released!”

Mercédès and the old man rushed to meet the shipowner and greeted him

at the door. He was very pale.

“What news?” exclaimed a general burst of voices.

“Alas, my friends,” replied M. Morrel, with a mournful shake of his

head, “the thing has assumed a more serious aspect than I expected.”

“Oh, indeed—indeed, sir, he is innocent!” sobbed forth Mercédès.

“That I believe!” answered M. Morrel; “but still he is charged——”

“With what?” inquired the elder Dantès.

“With being an agent of the Bonapartist faction!” Many of our readers

may be able to recollect how formidable such an accusation became in

the period at which our story is dated.

A despairing cry escaped the pale lips of Mercédès; the old man sank

into a chair.

“Ah, Danglars!” whispered Caderousse, “you have deceived me—the trick

you spoke of last night has been played; but I cannot suffer a poor old

man or an innocent girl to die of grief through your fault. I am

determined to tell them all about it.”

“Be silent, you simpleton!” cried Danglars, grasping him by the arm,

“or I will not answer even for your own safety. Who can tell whether

Dantès be innocent or guilty? The vessel did touch at Elba, where he

quitted it, and passed a whole day in the island. Now, should any

letters or other documents of a compromising character be found upon

him, will it not be taken for granted that all who uphold him are his

accomplices?”

With the rapid instinct of selfishness, Caderousse readily perceived

the solidity of this mode of reasoning; he gazed, doubtfully,

wistfully, on Danglars, and then caution supplanted generosity.

“Suppose we wait a while, and see what comes of it,” said he, casting a

bewildered look on his companion.

“To be sure!” answered Danglars. “Let us wait, by all means. If he be

innocent, of course he will be set at liberty; if guilty, why, it is no

use involving ourselves in a conspiracy.”

“Let us go, then. I cannot stay here any longer.”

“With all my heart!” replied Danglars, pleased to find the other so

tractable. “Let us take ourselves out of the way, and leave things for

the present to take their course.”

After their departure, Fernand, who had now again become the friend and

protector of Mercédès, led the girl to her home, while some friends of

Dantès conducted his father, nearly lifeless, to the Allées de Meilhan.

The rumor of Edmond’s arrest as a Bonapartist agent was not slow in

circulating throughout the city.

“Could you ever have credited such a thing, my dear Danglars?” asked M.

Morrel, as, on his return to the port for the purpose of gleaning fresh

tidings of Dantès, from M. de Villefort, the assistant procureur, he

overtook his supercargo and Caderousse. “Could you have believed such a

thing possible?”

“Why, you know I told you,” replied Danglars, “that I considered the

circumstance of his having anchored at the Island of Elba as a very

suspicious circumstance.”

“And did you mention these suspicions to any person beside myself?”

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“Certainly not!” returned Danglars. Then added in a low whisper, “You

understand that, on account of your uncle, M. Policar Morrel, who

served under the _other_ government, and who does not altogether

conceal what he thinks on the subject, you are strongly suspected of

regretting the abdication of Napoleon. I should have feared to injure

both Edmond and yourself, had I divulged my own apprehensions to a

soul. I am too well aware that though a subordinate, like myself, is

bound to acquaint the shipowner with everything that occurs, there are

many things he ought most carefully to conceal from all else.”

“’Tis well, Danglars—’tis well!” replied M. Morrel. “You are a worthy

fellow; and I had already thought of your interests in the event of

poor Edmond having become captain of the _Pharaon_.”

“Is it possible you were so kind?”

“Yes, indeed; I had previously inquired of Dantès what was his opinion

of you, and if he should have any reluctance to continue you in your

post, for somehow I have perceived a sort of coolness between you.”

“And what was his reply?”

“That he certainly did think he had given you offence in an affair

which he merely referred to without entering into particulars, but that

whoever possessed the good opinion and confidence of the ship’s owners

would have his preference also.”

“The hypocrite!” murmured Danglars.

“Poor Dantès!” said Caderousse. “No one can deny his being a

noble-hearted young fellow.”

“But meanwhile,” continued M. Morrel, “here is the _Pharaon_ without a

captain.”

“Oh,” replied Danglars, “since we cannot leave this port for the next

three months, let us hope that ere the expiration of that period Dantès

will be set at liberty.”

“No doubt; but in the meantime?”

“I am entirely at your service, M. Morrel,” answered Danglars. “You

know that I am as capable of managing a ship as the most experienced

captain in the service; and it will be so far advantageous to you to

accept my services, that upon Edmond’s release from prison no further

change will be requisite on board the _Pharaon_ than for Dantès and

myself each to resume our respective posts.”

“Thanks, Danglars—that will smooth over all difficulties. I fully

authorize you at once to assume the command of the _Pharaon_, and look

carefully to the unloading of her freight. Private misfortunes must

never be allowed to interfere with business.”

“Be easy on that score, M. Morrel; but do you think we shall be

permitted to see our poor Edmond?”

“I will let you know that directly I have seen M. de Villefort, whom I

shall endeavor to interest in Edmond’s favor. I am aware he is a

furious royalist; but, in spite of that, and of his being king’s

attorney, he is a man like ourselves, and I fancy not a bad sort of

one.”

“Perhaps not,” replied Danglars; “but I hear that he is ambitious, and

that’s rather against him.”

“Well, well,” returned M. Morrel, “we shall see. But now hasten on

board, I will join you there ere long.”

So saying, the worthy shipowner quitted the two allies, and proceeded

in the direction of the Palais de Justice.

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“You see,” said Danglars, addressing Caderousse, “the turn things have

taken. Do you still feel any desire to stand up in his defence?”

“Not the slightest, but yet it seems to me a shocking thing that a mere

joke should lead to such consequences.”

“But who perpetrated that joke, let me ask? neither you nor myself, but

Fernand; you knew very well that I threw the paper into a corner of the

room—indeed, I fancied I had destroyed it.”

“Oh, no,” replied Caderousse, “that I can answer for, you did not. I

only wish I could see it now as plainly as I saw it lying all crushed

and crumpled in a corner of the arbor.”

“Well, then, if you did, depend upon it, Fernand picked it up, and

either copied it or caused it to be copied; perhaps, even, he did not

take the trouble of recopying it. And now I think of it, by Heavens, he

may have sent the letter itself! Fortunately, for me, the handwriting

was disguised.”

“Then you were aware of Dantès being engaged in a conspiracy?”

“Not I. As I before said, I thought the whole thing was a joke, nothing

more. It seems, however, that I have unconsciously stumbled upon the

truth.”

“Still,” argued Caderousse, “I would give a great deal if nothing of

the kind had happened; or, at least, that I had had no hand in it. You

will see, Danglars, that it will turn out an unlucky job for both of

us.”

“Nonsense! If any harm come of it, it should fall on the guilty person;

and that, you know, is Fernand. How can we be implicated in any way?

All we have got to do is, to keep our own counsel, and remain perfectly

quiet, not breathing a word to any living soul; and you will see that

the storm will pass away without in the least affecting us.”

“Amen!” responded Caderousse, waving his hand in token of adieu to

Danglars, and bending his steps towards the Allées de Meilhan, moving

his head to and fro, and muttering as he went, after the manner of one

whose mind was overcharged with one absorbing idea.

“So far, then,” said Danglars, mentally, “all has gone as I would have

it. I am, temporarily, commander of the _Pharaon_, with the certainty

of being permanently so, if that fool of a Caderousse can be persuaded

to hold his tongue. My only fear is the chance of Dantès being

released. But, there, he is in the hands of Justice; and,” added he

with a smile, “she will take her own.” So saying, he leaped into a

boat, desiring to be rowed on board the _Pharaon_, where M. Morrel had

agreed to meet him.