II. Le père et le fils.

II

The Father and the Son.

Let us leave Danglars, wrestling with the spirit of hatred, trying to breathe some malicious suspicion against his comrade into the shipowner's ear, and follow Dantès, who, after traversing the Canebière in its full length, takes the rue de Noailles, enters a small house situated on the left side of the Allées de Meilhan, quickly climbs the four flights of a dark staircase, and, holding to the rail with one hand and pressing the beating of his heart with the other, stops before a half-open door, through which one may see to the back of a small room.

This room was the one inhabited by Dantès's father.

The news of the arrival of the Pharaon had not yet reached the old man, who was busy, mounted on a chair, palisading with a trembling hand some nasturtiums mixed with clematis, which were climbing up along the trellis of his window.

Suddenly he felt himself seized around the body, and a well-known voice cried behind him:

"My father, my good father!"

The old man gave a cry and turned round; then, seeing his son, he let himself fall into his arms, all trembling and pale.

"What is the matter, father?" cried the young man anxiously; "are you ill?"

"No, no, my dear Edmond, my son, my child, no; but I was not expecting you, and the joy, the shock of seeing you again thus unexpectedly... my God! it seems to me that I am going to die!"

"Come, come, recover yourself, father! It is I, indeed I! They always say that joy does no harm, and that is why I came in here without preparation. See, smile at me, instead of looking at me as you do, with wandering eyes. I have returned and we are going to be happy."

"Ah! so much the better, boy!" replied the old man; "but how are we going to be happy? You are not leaving me again, then? Come, tell me your good news."

"May the Lord forgive me," said the young man, "for rejoicing at a happiness made with the mourning of a family! But God knows that I would not have wished for this happiness; it comes, and I have not the strength to grieve at it: the brave Captain Leclère is dead, father, and it is probable that, through the patronage of M. Morrel, I am going to have his place. Do you understand, father? captain at twenty! with a hundred louis in salary and a share in the profits! is that not more than a poor sailor like me could really have hoped for?"

"Yes, my son, yes, indeed," said the old man, "that is fortunate."

"So I wish that with the first money I receive you may have a little house, with a garden to plant your clematis, your nasturtiums, and your honeysuckles... But what is the matter, father, one would say you are feeling unwell?"

"Patience, patience! it will be nothing."

And, his strength failing him, the old man fell backwards.

"Come! come!" said the young man, "a glass of wine, father; that will revive you; where do you keep your wine?"

"No, thank you, do not look; I do not need it," said the old man, trying to hold back his son.

"Yes, yes, father, show me where it is."

And he opened two or three cupboards.

"Useless..." said the old man; "there is no more wine."

"How, there is no more wine!" said Dantès, turning pale in his turn, looking alternately at the hollow and livid cheeks of the old man and at the empty cupboards; "how, there is no more wine! Would you have been short of money, father?"

"I have lacked for nothing, since you are here," said the old man.

"And yet," stammered Dantès, wiping the sweat that flowed from his brow, "and yet I left you two hundred francs three months ago when I departed."

"Yes, yes, Edmond, that is true; but you had forgotten a small debt to the neighbor Caderousse when you left; he reminded me of it, telling me that if I did not pay for you he would go and get himself paid by M. Morrel. Then, you understand, for fear that it would do you harm..."

"Well?"

"Well, I paid."

"But," cried Dantès, "it was a hundred and forty francs that I owed Caderousse!"

"Yes," stammered the old man.

"And you gave them from the two hundred francs I had left you?"

The old man made a sign with his head.

"So you have lived three months on sixty francs!" murmured the young man.

"You know how little I need," said the old man.

"Oh! my God, my God, forgive me!" cried Edmond, throwing himself on his knees before the old man.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh! you have torn my heart."

"Bah! you are here," said the old man, smiling; "now all is forgotten, for all is well."

"Yes, here I am," said the young man, "here I am with a fine future and a little money. See, father," he said, "take, take, and send for something at once."

And he emptied his pockets onto the table, which contained a dozen gold pieces, five or six five-franc écus, and some small change.

The face of old Dantès brightened.

"For whom is that?" said he.

"Why, for me!... for you!... for us!... Take, buy provisions, be happy; tomorrow there will be more."

"Gently, gently," said the old man, smiling; "with your permission, I shall use the purse moderately: they would think, if they saw me buying too many things at once, that I had been obliged to wait for your return to buy them."

"Do as you wish; but, before all else, take a servant, father; I do not want you to remain alone. I have contraband coffee and excellent tobacco in a small chest in the hold; you shall have it tomorrow. But hush! here is someone."

"It is Caderousse, who will have learned of your arrival, and who comes no doubt to pay you his compliments on your safe return."

"Good, more lips that say one thing while the heart thinks another," murmured Edmond; "but no matter, he is a neighbor who did us a service once; let him be welcome."

Indeed, at the moment Edmond finished the sentence in a low voice, there appeared framed in the landing door the black and bearded head of Caderousse. He was a man of twenty-five to twenty-six years; he held in his hand a piece of cloth, which, in his capacity as tailor, he was about to turn into a coat lapel.

"Eh! so you are back, Edmond?" said he with a strongly pronounced Marseillais accent and a broad smile that showed his teeth white as ivory.

"As you see, neighbor Caderousse, and ready to be of service to you in whatever it may be," answered Dantès, ill concealing his coldness under this offer of service.

"Thank you, thank you; fortunately, I need nothing, and it is even sometimes others who need me. (Dantès made a movement.) I do not say that for you, boy; I lent you money, you paid me back; that is how it goes between good neighbors, and we are quits."

"One is never quits with those who have obliged us," said Dantès, "for when one no longer owes them money, one owes them gratitude."

"What is the use of speaking of that! What is past is past. Let us speak of your happy return, boy. I had gone thus to the port to sort some brown cloth, when I met friend Danglars.

"'You, in Marseille?'

"'Why yes, just the same,' he answered me.

"'I thought you were at Smyrna.'

"'I might be, for I am just back from there.'

"'And Edmond, where is he, the lad?'

"'Why, at his father's, no doubt,' answered Danglars; and then I came," continued Caderousse, "to have the pleasure of shaking a friend's hand."

"This good Caderousse," said the old man, "he loves us so."

"Certainly I love you, and esteem you too, seeing that honest folk are rare! But it seems you are growing rich, boy?" continued the tailor, casting an oblique glance at the handful of gold and silver that Dantès had laid on the table.

The young man noticed the flash of covetousness that lit his neighbor's black eyes.

"Oh! my God," said he negligently, "this money is not mine; I was expressing to father my fear that he might have lacked something in my absence, and to reassure me, he emptied his purse on the table. Come, father," continued Dantès, "put this money back in your strongbox; unless neighbor Caderousse should be in need in his turn, in which case it is quite at his service."

"Not at all, boy," said Caderousse, "I need nothing, and, thank God, the trade feeds its man. Keep your money, keep it: one never has too much; which does not prevent me from being obliged to you for your offer as if I profited by it."

"It was with good heart," said Dantès.

"I do not doubt it. Well, so you are on the best of terms with M. Morrel, you coaxing fellow?"

"M. Morrel has always had much kindness for me," answered Dantès.

"In that case, you were wrong to refuse his dinner."

"How, refuse his dinner?" replied old Dantès; "he had invited you to dinner?"

"Yes, father," replied Edmond, smiling at the astonishment his father showed at the excess of honor of which he was the object.

"And why did you refuse, son?" asked the old man.

"To come back sooner to you, father," answered the young man; "I was in haste to see you."

"That will have vexed him, that good M. Morrel," replied Caderousse; "and when one aims to be captain, it is a fault to vex one's shipowner."

"I explained to him the cause of my refusal," replied Dantès, "and he understood it, I hope."

"Ah! it is that, to be captain, one must flatter one's patrons a little."

"I hope to be captain without that," answered Dantès.

"So much the better, so much the better! that will please all the old friends, and I know someone down there, behind the citadel of Saint-Nicolas, who will not be displeased."

"Mercédès?" said the old man.

"Yes, father," replied Dantès; "and, with your leave, now that I have seen you, now that I know you are well and have all you need, I ask your permission to go pay a visit to the Catalans."

"Go, my child," said old Dantès, "and may God bless you in your wife as He has blessed me in my son."

"His wife!" said Caderousse; "how fast you go, father Dantès! she is not one yet, it seems to me!"

"No; but, in all probability," answered Edmond, "she will not be long in becoming one."

"No matter, no matter," said Caderousse, "you did well to hurry, boy."

"Why so?"

"Because Mercédès is a fine girl, and fine girls do not lack lovers; that one especially, they follow her by the dozen."

"Indeed?" said Edmond with a smile beneath which peered a slight shade of uneasiness.

"Oh! yes," replied Caderousse, "and fine matches even; but, you understand, you are going to be captain, they will not dare refuse you, you!"

"Which means," replied Dantès with a smile that ill concealed his uneasiness, "that if I were not captain..."

"Eh! eh!" went Caderousse.

"Come, come," said the young man, "I have a better opinion than you of women in general, and of Mercédès in particular, and, I am convinced, whether I be captain or not, she will remain faithful to me."

"So much the better! so much the better!" said Caderousse; "it is always, when one is going to marry, a good thing to have faith; but no matter; believe me, boy, lose no time in going to announce your arrival to her and to share your hopes with her."

"I am going," said Edmond.

He kissed his father, saluted Caderousse with a nod, and went out. Caderousse remained a moment longer; then, taking leave of old Dantès, he too went down and went to rejoin Danglars, who was waiting for him at the corner of the rue Senac.

"Well," said Danglars, "did you see him?"

"I have just left him," said Caderousse.

"And did he speak to you of his hope of being captain?"

"He speaks of it as if he already were one."

"Patience!" said Danglars; "he is in rather too great a hurry, it seems to me."

"Why, it appears the thing was promised him by M. Morrel."

"So that he is very merry?"

"That is to say, he is insolent about it; he has already made me his offers of service as if he were a great personage; he offered to lend me money as if he were a banker."

"And you refused?"

"Perfectly; though I might well have accepted, seeing that it was I who put the first white pieces into his hands that he ever handled. But now M. Dantès will need no one, he is going to be captain."

"Bah!" said Danglars, "he is not one yet."

"My faith, it would serve him right if he were not," said Caderousse, "or otherwise there will be no way to speak to him."

"If we wish it," said Danglars, "he will remain what he is, and perhaps become less than he is."

"What do you say?"

"Nothing, I am speaking to myself." And is he still in love with the pretty Catalan?"

"Madly in love. He has gone there; but either I am much mistaken, or he will meet with trouble on that side."

"Explain yourself."

"What is the use?"

"It is more important than you think. You do not like Dantès, eh?"

"I do not like the arrogant."

"Well, then! tell me what you know regarding the Catalan."

"I know nothing very positive; only I have seen things that make me believe, as I told you, that the future captain will meet with trouble around the chemin des Vieilles-Infirmeries."

"What have you seen? come, tell."

"Well, I have seen that every time Mercédès comes to town, she comes accompanied by a big Catalan fellow with a black eye, a red skin, very brown, very ardent, and whom she calls my cousin."

"Ah! indeed! and do you think that cousin pays her court?"

"I suppose so: what the devil can a big lad of twenty-one do with a pretty girl of seventeen?"

"And you say Dantès has gone to the Catalans?"

"He left before me."

"If we were to go the same way, we would stop at the Réserve, and, while drinking a glass of wine from La Malgue, we would await news."

"And who will give us any?"

"We shall be on the road, and we shall see on Dantès's face what will have passed."

"Let us go," said Caderousse; "but it is you who pay?"

"Certainly," answered Danglars.

And both set off at a quick pace toward the indicated place. Arrived there, they had a bottle and two glasses brought to them. Father Pamphile had just seen Dantès pass, not ten minutes before. Certain that Dantès was at the Catalans, they sat down under the budding foliage of the plane trees and sycamores, in the branches of which a merry band of birds sang one of the first fine days of spring.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”