The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre Dumas
particular.”
“See, M. l’Abbé,” replied Caderousse, “in this corner is a crucifix in holy wood—here on this shelf is the gospel of my wife; open this book, and I will swear upon it with my hand on the crucifix; I will swear to you by my soul’s salvation, my faith as a Christian, I have told everything to you as it occurred, and as the angel of men will tell it to the ear of God at the day of the last judgment!”
“‘Tis well,” said the abbé, convinced by his manner and tone that Caderousse spoke the truth. “‘Tis well, and may this money profit you! Adieu! I go far from men who thus so bitterly injure each other.”
The abbé with difficulty got away from the enthusiastic thanks of Caderousse, opened the door himself, got out and mounted his horse, once more saluted the innkeeper, who kept uttering his loud farewells, and then returned by the road he had travelled in coming. When Caderousse turned round, he saw behind him La Carconte paler and trembling more than ever.
“Is, then, all that I have heard really true?” she inquired.
“What! that he has given the diamond to us only?” inquired Caderousse, half bewildered with joy.
“Yes!”
“Nothing more true! See! here it is.”
The woman gazed at it a moment, and then said, in a gloomy voice, “Supposing it’s false?”
Caderousse started, and turned pale.
“False!” he muttered. “False! why should that man give me a false diamond?”
“To possess your secret without paying for it, you blockhead!”
Caderousse remained for a moment aghast under the weight of such an idea.
“Oh!” he said, taking up his hat, which he placed on the red handkerchief tied round his head, “we will soon learn that.”
“In what way?”
“Why, it is the fair of Beaucaire; there are always jewellers from Paris there, and I will show it to them. Take care of the house, wife, and I shall be back in two hours.”
Caderousse left the house in haste, and ran rapidly in a direction contrary to that which the unknown had taken.
“Fifty thousand francs!” muttered La Carconte, when left alone; “it is a large sum of money, but it is not a fortune.”
THE DAY AFTER that on which the scene had passed on the road between Bellegarde and Beaucaire we have just related, a man of about thirty or two-and-thirty, dressed in a bright blue frock-coat, nankeen trousers, and a white waistcoat, having the appearance and accent of an Englishman, presented himself before the mayor of Marseilles.
“Sir,” said he, “I am chief clerk of the house of Thomson and French, of Rome. We are, and have been these ten years, connected with the house of Morrel and Son, of Marseilles. We have a hundred thousand francs (£4000) or thereabouts engaged in speculation with them, and we are a little uneasy at reports that have reached us that the firm is on the eve of ruin. I have come, therefore, express from Rome, to ask you for information as to this house.”
“Sir,” replied the mayor, “I know very well that during the last four or five years, misfortune has seemed to pursue M. Morrel. He has lost four or five vessels and suffered by three or four bankruptcies; but it is not for me, although I am a creditor myself to the amount of ten thousand francs (£400), to give any information as to the state of his finances. Ask of me, as mayor, what is my opinion of M. Morrel, I shall say he is a man honourable to the last degree, and who has up to this time fulfilled every engagement with scrupulous punctuality. This is all I can say, sir. If you wish to learn more, address yourself to M. de Boville, the Inspector of Prisons, No. 15 Rue de Nouailles. He has, I believe, two hundred thousand francs placed in the hands of Morrel, and if there be any grounds for apprehension, as this is a greater amount than mine, you will most probably find him better informed than myself.”
The Englishman seemed to appreciate this extreme delicacy, made his bow, and went away, walking with that step peculiar to the sons of Great Britain, towards the street mentioned. M. de Boville was in his private room, and the Englishman, on perceiving him, made a gesture of surprise, which seemed to indicate that it was not the first time he had been in his presence. As to M. de Boville, he was in such a state of despair, that it was evident all the faculties of his mind, absorbed in the thought which occupied him at the moment, did not allow either his memory or his imagination to stray to the past. The Englishman, with the coolness of his nation, addressed him in terms nearly similar to those with which he had accosted the mayor of Marseilles.
“Oh, sir,” exclaimed M. de Boville, “your fears are unfortunately but too well founded, and you see before you a man in despair. I had two hundred thousand francs placed in the hands of Morrel and Son; these two hundred thousand francs were my daughter’s dowry, who was to be married in a fortnight, and these two hundred thousand francs were payable, half on the 15th of this month, and the other half on the 15th of next month. I had informed M. Morrel of my desire to have these payments punctually, and he has been here within the last half-hour to tell me that if his ship, the Pharaon, did not come into port on the 15th, he would be wholly unable to make this payment.”
“But,” said the Englishman, “this looks very much like a suspension of payments!”
“Say, sir, that it resembles a bankruptcy!” exclaimed M. de Boville despairingly.
The Englishman appeared to reflect a moment, and then said:
“Thus, then, sir, this credit inspires you with considerable apprehensions!”
“To say truth, I consider it lost.”
“Well, then, I will buy it of you.”
“You?”
“Yes, I!”
“But at a tremendous discount, of course?”
“No; for two hundred thousand francs. Our house,” added the Englishman, with a laugh, “does not do things in that way.”
“And you will pay———”
“Ready money.”
And the Englishman drew from his pocket a bundle of bank-notes, which might have been twice the sum M. de Boville feared to lose. A ray of joy passed across M. de Boville’s countenance, yet he made an effort over himself, and said:
“Sir, I ought to tell you that, in all probability, you will not have six per cent. of this sum.”
“That’s no affair of mine,” replied the Englishman, “that is the affair of the house of Thomson and French, in whose name I act. They have, perhaps, some motive to serve in hastening the ruin of a rival firm. But all I know, sir, is, that I am ready to hand you over this sum in exchange for your assignment of the debt. I only ask a brokerage.”
“Of course, that is perfectly just,” cried M. de Boville. “The commission is usually one and a half; will you have two—three—five per cent., or even more? Say!”
“Sir,” replied the Englishman, laughing, “I am like my house, and do not do such things—no, the commission I ask is quite different.”
“Name it, sir, I beg.”
“You are the inspector of prisons?”
“I have been so these fourteen years.”
“You keep the registers of entries and departures?”
“I do.”
“To these registers there are added notes relative to the prisoners?”
“There are special reports on every prisoner.”
“Well,