The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre Dumas
on his lips, and he could not utter a word.
“Today the preliminaries, tomorrow or next day the ceremony! you are in a hurry, captain!”
“Danglars,” said Edmond, smiling, “I will say to you as Mercédès said just now to Caderousse, ‘Do not give me a title which does not belong to me;’ that may bring me bad luck.”
“Your pardon,” replied Danglars; “I merely said you seemed in a hurry, and we have lots of time, the Pharaon cannot be under weigh again in less than three months.”
“We are always in a hurry to be happy, M. Danglars; for when we have suffered a long time, we have great difficulty in believing in good fortune. But it is not selfishness alone that makes me thus in haste; I must go to Paris.”
“To Paris! really! and will it be the first time you have ever been there, Dantès?”
“Yes.”
“Have you business there?”
“Not of my own; the last commission of poor Captain Leclere; you know to what I allude, Danglars; it is sacred. Besides, I shall only take the time to go and return.”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” said Danglars; and then in a low tone, he added, “To Paris, no doubt to deliver the letter which the Grand Marshal gave him. Ah! this letter gives me an idea,—a capital idea! Ah! Dantès, my friend, you are not yet registered number One on board the good ship Pharaon;” then turning towards Edmond, who was walking away, “Good journey,” he cried.
“Thank ye,” said Edmond, with a friendly nod, and the two lovers continued their route, calm and joyous.
DANGLARS FOLLOWED EDMOND and Mercédès with his eyes until the two lovers disappeared behind one of the angles of Fort Saint Nicolas, then turning round, he perceived Fernand, who had fallen pale and trembling into his chair, whilst Caderousse stammered out the words of a drinking song.
“Well, my dear sir,” said Danglars to Fernand, “here is a marriage which does not appear to make everybody happy.”
“It drives me to despair,” said Fernand.
“Do you, then, love Mercédès?”
“I adore her!”
“Have you loved her long?”
“Ever since I have known her.”
“And you sit there, tearing your hair, instead of seeking to remedy your condition! I did not think it was thus your nation acted.”
“What would you have me do?” said Fernand.
“How do I know? Is it my affair? I am not in love with Mademoiselle Mercédès, but for you—seek, and you shall find.”
“I have found already.”
“What?”
“I would stab the man, but the woman told me that if any misfortune happened to her betrothed she would kill herself.”
“Pooh! women say those things, but never do them.”
“You do not know Mercédès; what she threatens she will do.”
“Idiot!” muttered Danglars, “whether she kills herself or not, what matter provided Dantès is not captain?”
“Before Mercédès should die,” replied Fernand, with the accents of unshaken resolution, “I would die myself!”
“That’s what I call love!” said Caderousse, with a voice more tipsy than ever. “That’s love, or I don’t know what love is.”
“Come,” said Danglars, “you appear to me a good sort of fellow, and hang me! but I should like to help you, but———”
“Yes,” said Caderousse, “but how?”
“My dear fellow,” replied Danglars, “you are three parts drunk; finish the bottle, and you will be completely so. Drink, then, and do not meddle with what we are discussing, for that requires all one’s wit and cool judgment.”
“I—drunk?” said Caderousse; “well, that’s a good one! I could drink four more such bottles; they are no bigger than eau-de-Cologne flasks. Père Pamphile, more wine!” and Caderousse rattled his glass upon the table.
“You were saying, sir———” said Fernand, awaiting with great anxiety the end of this interrupted remark.
“What was I saying? I forget. This drunken Caderousse has made me lose the thread of my thoughts.”
“Drunk, if you like; so much the worse for those who fear wine, for it is because they have some bad thoughts which they are afraid the liquor will extract from their hearts;” and Caderousse began to sing the two last lines of a song very popular at the time:
Tous les méchants sont beuveurs d’eau;
C’est bien prouvé par le déluge.
“You said, sir, you would like to help me, but———”
“Yes; but I added, to help you it would be sufficient that Dantès did not marry her you love; and the marriage may easily be thwarted, methinks, and yet Dantès need not die.”
“Death alone can separate them,” remarked Fernand.
“You talk like a noodle, my friend,” said Caderousse, “and here is Danglars, who is a wide-awake, clever, deep fellow, who will prove to you that you are wrong. Prove it, Danglars. I have answered for you. Say there is no need why Dantès should die: it would, indeed, be a pity he should. Dantès is a good fellow; I like Dantès! Dantès, your health!”
Fernand rose impatiently.
“Let him run on,” said Danglars, restraining the young man; “drunk as he is, he is not much out in what he says. Absence severs as well as death, and if the walls of a prison were between Edmond and Mercédès they would be as effectually separated as if they lay under a tombstone.”
“Yes; only people get out of prison,” said Caderousse, who, with what sense was left him, listened eagerly to the conversation, “and when they get out, and their names are Edmond Dantès, they revenge———”
“What matters that?” muttered Fernand.
“And why, I should like to know,” persisted Caderousse, “should they put Dantès in prison; he has neither robbed, nor killed, nor murdered.”
“Hold your tongue!” said Danglars.
“I won’t hold my tongue!” replied Caderousse; “I say I want to know why they should put Dantès in prison; I like Dantès; Dantès, your health!” and he swallowed another glass of wine.
Danglars saw in the muddled look of the tailor the progress of his intoxication, and turning towards Fernand, said:
“Well, you understand there is no need to kill him.”
“Certainly not, if, as you said just now, you have the means of having Dantès arrested. Have you that means?”
“It is to be found for the searching. But, why should I meddle in the matter? it is no affair of mine.”
“I know not why you meddle,” said Fernand, seizing his arm, “but this I know, you have some motive of personal hatred against Dantès, for he who himself hates, is never mistaken in the sentiments of others.”
“I! motives of hatred against Dantès? None, on my word! I saw you were unhappy, and your unhappiness interested me; that’s all; but the moment you believe I act for my own account, adieu, my dear friend, get out of the affair as best you may;” and Danglars rose as if he meant to depart.