The Count Of Monte Cristo (Complete). Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter 4 Conspiracy.

      Danglars followed Edmond and Mercedes 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, while 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 Mercedes?”

      “I adore her!”

      “For long?”

      “As long as I have known her — always.”

      “And you sit there, tearing your hair, instead of seeking to remedy your condition; I did not think that was the way of your people.”

      “What would you have me do?” said Fernand.

      “How do I know? Is it my affair? I am not in love with Mademoiselle Mercedes; but for you — in the words of the gospel, 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 Mercedes; what she threatens she will do.”

      “Idiot!” muttered Danglars; “whether she kill herself or not, what matter, provided Dantes is not captain?”

      “Before Mercedes 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, 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 cologne flasks. Pere 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 sentence.”

      “Drunk, if you like; so much the worse for those who fear wine, for it is because they have 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 mechants sont beuveurs d’eau; C’est bien prouve par le deluge.’*

      (* “The wicked are great drinkers of water As the flood proved once for all.”)

      “You said, sir, you would like to help me, but” —

      “Yes; but I added, to help you it would be sufficient that Dantes did not marry her you love; and the marriage may easily be thwarted, methinks, and yet Dantes 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 Dantes should die; it would, indeed, be a pity he should. Dantes is a good fellow; I like Dantes. Dantes, 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 Mercedes they would be as effectually separated as if he lay under a tombstone.”

      “Yes; but one gets out of prison,” said Caderousse, who, with what sense was left him, listened eagerly to the conversation, “and when one gets out and one’s name is Edmond Dantes, one seeks revenge” —

      “What matters that?” muttered Fernand.

      “And why, I should like to know,” persisted Caderousse, “should they put Dantes in prison? he has not robbed or killed or murdered.”

      “Hold your tongue!” said Danglars.

      “I won’t hold my tongue!” replied Caderousse; “I say I want to know why they should put Dantes in prison; I like Dantes; Dantes, 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 Dantes 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 Dantes, for he who himself hates is never mistaken in the sentiments of others.”

      “I! — motives of hatred against Dantes? None, on my word! I saw you were unhappy, and your unhappiness interested me; that’s all; but since 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.

      “No, no,” said Fernand, restraining him, “stay! It is of very little consequence to me at the end of the matter whether you have any angry feeling or not against Dantes. I hate him! I confess it openly. Do you find the means, I will execute it, provided it is not to kill the man, for Mercedes has declared she will kill herself if Dantes is killed.”

      Caderousse, who had let his head drop on the table, now raised it, and looking at Fernand with his dull and fishy eyes, he said, — “Kill Dantes! who talks of killing Dantes? I won’t have him killed — I won’t! He’s my friend, and this morning offered to share his money with me, as I shared mine with him. I won’t have Dantes killed — I won’t!”

      “And who has said a word about killing him, muddlehead?” replied Danglars. “We were merely joking; drink to his health,” he added, filling Caderousse’s glass, “and do not interfere with us.”

      “Yes, yes, Dantes’ good health!” said Caderousse, emptying his glass, “here’s to his health! his health — hurrah!”

      “But