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You understand, my dear baron, that legal methods are the safest in criminal cases; it was, perhaps, some plot against you." Andrea looked steadily at Monte Cristo and disappeared in the second drawing-room. "Possibly," said Danglars; "was not this murdered man an old galley-slave?" "Yes," replied the count; "a felon named Caderousse."
"Never." Caderousse had become so gloomy that Andrea feared he should be obliged to notice the change. He redoubled his gayety and carelessness. "How sprightly you are," said Caderousse; "One would say you were already in possession of your property." "No, unfortunately; but when I do obtain it" "Well?" "I shall remember old friends, I can tell you that." "Yes, since you have such a good memory."
Then Caderousse sat astride the coping, and drawing up his ladder passed it over the wall; then he began to descend, or rather to slide down by the two stanchions, which he did with an ease which proved how accustomed he was to the exercise. But, once started, he could not stop.
The abbe opened his mouth, hesitated for a moment, then, making an effort at self-control, he said, "And Mercedes they tell me that she has disappeared?" "Disappeared," said Caderousse, "yes, as the sun disappears, to rise the next day with still more splendor." "Has she made a fortune also?" inquired the abbe, with an ironical smile.
'No, said Caderousse, 'we are not rich enough to lose 5,000 francs. 'As you please, my dear sir, said the jeweller; 'I had, however, as you see, brought you the money in bright coin. And he drew from his pocket a handful of gold, and held it sparkling before the dazzled eyes of the innkeeper, and in the other hand he held a packet of bank-notes.
"No," replied the abbe, "it was not of such a size as that; but you shall judge for yourself. I have it with me." The sharp gaze of Caderousse was instantly directed towards the priest's garments, as though hoping to discover the location of the treasure.
"What was his name?" inquired the count, who seemed to become somewhat interested in Bertuccio's story. "Gaspard Caderousse; he had married a woman from the village of Carconte, and whom we did not know by any other name than that of her village. She was suffering from malarial fever, and seemed dying by inches.
Is he prosperous and happy?" "He died a more wretched, hopeless, heart-broken prisoner than the felons who pay the penalty of their crimes at the galleys of Toulon." A deadly pallor followed the flush on the countenance of Caderousse, who turned away, and the priest saw him wiping the tears from his eyes with the corner of the red handkerchief twisted round his head.
"Eh, dear friend," said Caderousse, "are wills ever made without codicils? But you first came to breakfast, did you not? Well, sit down, and let us begin with these pilchards, and this fresh butter; which I have put on some vine-leaves to please you, wicked one. Ah, yes; you look at my room, my four straw chairs, my images, three francs each. But what do you expect?
"The death of your prince?" "Yes." "How so?" "Because he has made his will in my favor." "Indeed?" "On my honor." "For how much?" "For five hundred thousand." "Only that? It's little enough." "But so it is." "No it cannot be!" "Are you my friend, Caderousse?" "Yes, in life or death." "Well, I will tell you a secret." "What is it?" "But remember" "Ah, pardieu, mute as a carp."
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