“Ah, really?—to Paris! 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, “A pleasant journey,” he cried.
“Thank you,” said Edmond with a friendly nod, and the two lovers continued on their way, as calm and joyous as if they were the very elect of heaven.
Chapter 4. Conspiracy
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, 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 Mercédès?”
“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 Mercédès; 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 Mercédès; what she threatens she will do.”
“Idiot!” muttered Danglars; “whether she kill 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, 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. 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 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 méchants sont buveurs d’eau;
C’est bien prouvé par le déluge.’1
“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 he lay under a tombstone.”
