Reading Help The Count of Monte Cristo Ch.11-39
understanding appeared to exist. The horse was of Hungarian `
` breed, and ambled along at an easy pace. His rider was a `
` priest, dressed in black, and wearing a three-cornered hat; `
` and, spite of the ardent rays of a noonday sun, the pair `
` came on with a fair degree of rapidity. `
` `
` Having arrived before the Pont du Gard, the horse stopped, `
` but whether for his own pleasure or that of his rider would `
` have been difficult to say. However that might have been, `
` the priest, dismounting, led his steed by the bridle in `
` search of some place to which he could secure him. Availing `
` himself of a handle that projected from a half-fallen door, `
` he tied the animal safely and having drawn a red cotton `
` handkerchief, from his pocket, wiped away the perspiration `
` that streamed from his brow, then, advancing to the door, `
` struck thrice with the end of his iron-shod stick. At this `
` unusual sound, a huge black dog came rushing to meet the `
` daring assailant of his ordinarily tranquil abode, snarling `
` and displaying his sharp white teeth with a determined `
` hostility that abundantly proved how little he was `
` accustomed to society. At that moment a heavy footstep was `
` heard descending the wooden staircase that led from the `
` upper floor, and, with many bows and courteous smiles, mine `
` host of the Pont du Gard besought his guest to enter. `
` `
` "You are welcome, sir, most welcome!" repeated the `
` astonished Caderousse. "Now, then, Margotin," cried he, `
` speaking to the dog, "will you be quiet? Pray don't heed `
` him, sir! -- he only barks, he never bites. I make no doubt `
` a glass of good wine would be acceptable this dreadfully hot `
` day." Then perceiving for the first time the garb of the `
` traveller he had to entertain, Caderousse hastily exclaimed: `
` "A thousand pardons! I really did not observe whom I had the `
` honor to receive under my poor roof. What would the abbe `
` please to have? What refreshment can I offer? All I have is `
` at his service." `
` `
` The priest gazed on the person addressing him with a long `
` and searching gaze -- there even seemed a disposition on his `
` part to court a similar scrutiny on the part of the `
` inn-keeper; then, observing in the countenance of the latter `
` no other expression than extreme surprise at his own want of `
` attention to an inquiry so courteously worded, he deemed it `
` as well to terminate this dumb show, and therefore said, `
` speaking with a strong Italian accent, "You are, I presume, `
` M. Caderousse?" `
` `
` "Yes, sir," answered the host, even more surprised at the `
` question than he had been by the silence which had preceded `
` it; "I am Gaspard Caderousse, at your service." `
` `
` "Gaspard Caderousse," rejoined the priest. "Yes, -- `
` Christian and surname are the same. You formerly lived, I `
` believe in the Allees de Meillan, on the fourth floor?" `
` `
` "I did." `
` `
` "And you followed the business of a tailor?" `
` `
` "True, I was a tailor, till the trade fell off. It is so hot `
` at Marseilles, that really I believe that the respectable `
` inhabitants will in time go without any clothing whatever. `
` But talking of heat, is there nothing I can offer you by way `
` of refreshment?" `
` `
` "Yes; let me have a bottle of your best wine, and then, with `
` your permission, we will resume our conversation from where `
` we left off." `
` `
` "As you please, sir," said Caderousse, who, anxious not to `
` lose the present opportunity of finding a customer for one `
` of the few bottles of Cahors still remaining in his `
` possession, hastily raised a trap-door in the floor of the `
` apartment they were in, which served both as parlor and `
` kitchen. Upon issuing forth from his subterranean retreat at `
` the expiration of five minutes, he found the abbe seated `
` upon a wooden stool, leaning his elbow on a table, while `
` Margotin, whose animosity seemed appeased by the unusual `
` command of the traveller for refreshments, had crept up to `
` him, and had established himself very comfortably between `
` his knees, his long, skinny neck resting on his lap, while `
` his dim eye was fixed earnestly on the traveller's face. `
` `
` "Are you quite alone?" inquired the guest, as Caderousse `
` placed before him the bottle of wine and a glass. `
` `
` "Quite, quite alone," replied the man -- "or, at least, `
` practically so, for my poor wife, who is the only person in `
` the house besides myself, is laid up with illness, and `
` unable to render me the least assistance, poor thing!" `
` `
` "You are married, then?" said the priest, with a show of `
` interest, glancing round as he spoke at the scanty `
` furnishings of the apartment. `
` `
` "Ah, sir," said Caderousse with a sigh, "it is easy to `
` perceive I am not a rich man; but in this world a man does `
` not thrive the better for being honest." The abbe fixed on `
` him a searching, penetrating glance. `
` `
` "Yes, honest -- I can certainly say that much for myself," `
` continued the inn-keeper, fairly sustaining the scrutiny of `
` the abbe's gaze; "I can boast with truth of being an honest `
` man; and," continued he significantly, with a hand on his `
` breast and shaking his head, "that is more than every one `
` can say nowadays." `
` `
` "So much the better for you, if what you assert be true," `
` said the abbe; "for I am firmly persuaded that, sooner or `
` later, the good will be rewarded, and the wicked punished." `
` `
` "Such words as those belong to your profession," answered `
` Caderousse, "and you do well to repeat them; but," added he, `
` with a bitter expression of countenance, "one is free to `
` believe them or not, as one pleases." `
` `
` "You are wrong to speak thus," said the abbe; "and perhaps I `
` may, in my own person, be able to prove to you how `
` completely you are in error." `
` `
` "What mean you?" inquired Caderousse with a look of `
` surprise. `
` `
` "In the first place, I must be satisfied that you are the `
` person I am in search of." `
` `
` "What proofs do you require?" `
` `
` "Did you, in the year 1814 or 1815, know anything of a young `
` sailor named Dantes?" `
` `
` "Dantes? Did I know poor dear Edmond? Why, Edmond Dantes and `
` myself were intimate friends!" exclaimed Caderousse, whose `
` countenance flushed darkly as he caught the penetrating gaze `
` of the abbe fixed on him, while the clear, calm eye of the `
` questioner seemed to dilate with feverish scrutiny. `
` `
` "You remind me," said the priest, "that the young man `
` concerning whom I asked you was said to bear the name of `
` Edmond." `
` `
` "Said to bear the name!" repeated Caderousse, becoming `
` excited and eager. "Why, he was so called as truly as I `
` myself bore the appellation of Gaspard Caderousse; but tell `
` me, I pray, what has become of poor Edmond? Did you know `
` him? Is he alive and at liberty? 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. `
` `
` "Poor fellow, poor fellow!" murmured Caderousse. "Well, `
` there, sir, is another proof that good people are never `
` rewarded on this earth, and that none but the wicked `
` prosper. Ah," continued Caderousse, speaking in the highly `
` colored language of the south, "the world grows worse and `
` worse. Why does not God, if he really hates the wicked, as `
` he is said to do, send down brimstone and fire, and consume `
` them altogether?" `
` `
` "You speak as though you had loved this young Dantes," `
` observed the abbe, without taking any notice of his `
` companion's vehemence. `
` `
` "And so I did," replied Caderousse; "though once, I confess, `
` I envied him his good fortune. But I swear to you, sir, I `
` swear to you, by everything a man holds dear, I have, since `
` then, deeply and sincerely lamented his unhappy fate." There `
` was a brief silence, during which the fixed, searching eye `
` of the abbe was employed in scrutinizing the agitated `
` features of the inn-keeper. `
` `
` "You knew the poor lad, then?" continued Caderousse. `
` `
` "I was called to see him on his dying bed, that I might `
` administer to him the consolations of religion." `
` `
` "And of what did he die?" asked Caderousse in a choking `
` voice. `
` `
` "Of what, think you, do young and strong men die in prison, `
` when they have scarcely numbered their thirtieth year, `
` unless it be of imprisonment?" Caderousse wiped away the `
` large beads of perspiration that gathered on his brow. `
` `
` "But the strangest part of the story is," resumed the abbe, `
` "that Dantes, even in his dying moments, swore by his `
` crucified Redeemer, that he was utterly ignorant of the `
` cause of his detention." `
` `
` "And so he was," murmured Caderousse. "How should he have `
` been otherwise? Ah, sir, the poor fellow told you the `
` truth." `
` `
` "And for that reason, he besought me to try and clear up a `
`
` breed, and ambled along at an easy pace. His rider was a `
` priest, dressed in black, and wearing a three-cornered hat; `
` and, spite of the ardent rays of a noonday sun, the pair `
` came on with a fair degree of rapidity. `
` `
` Having arrived before the Pont du Gard, the horse stopped, `
` but whether for his own pleasure or that of his rider would `
` have been difficult to say. However that might have been, `
` the priest, dismounting, led his steed by the bridle in `
` search of some place to which he could secure him. Availing `
` himself of a handle that projected from a half-fallen door, `
` he tied the animal safely and having drawn a red cotton `
` handkerchief, from his pocket, wiped away the perspiration `
` that streamed from his brow, then, advancing to the door, `
` struck thrice with the end of his iron-shod stick. At this `
` unusual sound, a huge black dog came rushing to meet the `
` daring assailant of his ordinarily tranquil abode, snarling `
` and displaying his sharp white teeth with a determined `
` hostility that abundantly proved how little he was `
` accustomed to society. At that moment a heavy footstep was `
` heard descending the wooden staircase that led from the `
` upper floor, and, with many bows and courteous smiles, mine `
` host of the Pont du Gard besought his guest to enter. `
` `
` "You are welcome, sir, most welcome!" repeated the `
` astonished Caderousse. "Now, then, Margotin," cried he, `
` speaking to the dog, "will you be quiet? Pray don't heed `
` him, sir! -- he only barks, he never bites. I make no doubt `
` a glass of good wine would be acceptable this dreadfully hot `
` day." Then perceiving for the first time the garb of the `
` traveller he had to entertain, Caderousse hastily exclaimed: `
` "A thousand pardons! I really did not observe whom I had the `
` honor to receive under my poor roof. What would the abbe `
` please to have? What refreshment can I offer? All I have is `
` at his service." `
` `
` The priest gazed on the person addressing him with a long `
` and searching gaze -- there even seemed a disposition on his `
` part to court a similar scrutiny on the part of the `
` inn-keeper; then, observing in the countenance of the latter `
` no other expression than extreme surprise at his own want of `
` attention to an inquiry so courteously worded, he deemed it `
` as well to terminate this dumb show, and therefore said, `
` speaking with a strong Italian accent, "You are, I presume, `
` M. Caderousse?" `
` `
` "Yes, sir," answered the host, even more surprised at the `
` question than he had been by the silence which had preceded `
` it; "I am Gaspard Caderousse, at your service." `
` `
` "Gaspard Caderousse," rejoined the priest. "Yes, -- `
` Christian and surname are the same. You formerly lived, I `
` believe in the Allees de Meillan, on the fourth floor?" `
` `
` "I did." `
` `
` "And you followed the business of a tailor?" `
` `
` "True, I was a tailor, till the trade fell off. It is so hot `
` at Marseilles, that really I believe that the respectable `
` inhabitants will in time go without any clothing whatever. `
` But talking of heat, is there nothing I can offer you by way `
` of refreshment?" `
` `
` "Yes; let me have a bottle of your best wine, and then, with `
` your permission, we will resume our conversation from where `
` we left off." `
` `
` "As you please, sir," said Caderousse, who, anxious not to `
` lose the present opportunity of finding a customer for one `
` of the few bottles of Cahors still remaining in his `
` possession, hastily raised a trap-door in the floor of the `
` apartment they were in, which served both as parlor and `
` kitchen. Upon issuing forth from his subterranean retreat at `
` the expiration of five minutes, he found the abbe seated `
` upon a wooden stool, leaning his elbow on a table, while `
` Margotin, whose animosity seemed appeased by the unusual `
` command of the traveller for refreshments, had crept up to `
` him, and had established himself very comfortably between `
` his knees, his long, skinny neck resting on his lap, while `
` his dim eye was fixed earnestly on the traveller's face. `
` `
` "Are you quite alone?" inquired the guest, as Caderousse `
` placed before him the bottle of wine and a glass. `
` `
` "Quite, quite alone," replied the man -- "or, at least, `
` practically so, for my poor wife, who is the only person in `
` the house besides myself, is laid up with illness, and `
` unable to render me the least assistance, poor thing!" `
` `
` "You are married, then?" said the priest, with a show of `
` interest, glancing round as he spoke at the scanty `
` furnishings of the apartment. `
` `
` "Ah, sir," said Caderousse with a sigh, "it is easy to `
` perceive I am not a rich man; but in this world a man does `
` not thrive the better for being honest." The abbe fixed on `
` him a searching, penetrating glance. `
` `
` "Yes, honest -- I can certainly say that much for myself," `
` continued the inn-keeper, fairly sustaining the scrutiny of `
` the abbe's gaze; "I can boast with truth of being an honest `
` man; and," continued he significantly, with a hand on his `
` breast and shaking his head, "that is more than every one `
` can say nowadays." `
` `
` "So much the better for you, if what you assert be true," `
` said the abbe; "for I am firmly persuaded that, sooner or `
` later, the good will be rewarded, and the wicked punished." `
` `
` "Such words as those belong to your profession," answered `
` Caderousse, "and you do well to repeat them; but," added he, `
` with a bitter expression of countenance, "one is free to `
` believe them or not, as one pleases." `
` `
` "You are wrong to speak thus," said the abbe; "and perhaps I `
` may, in my own person, be able to prove to you how `
` completely you are in error." `
` `
` "What mean you?" inquired Caderousse with a look of `
` surprise. `
` `
` "In the first place, I must be satisfied that you are the `
` person I am in search of." `
` `
` "What proofs do you require?" `
` `
` "Did you, in the year 1814 or 1815, know anything of a young `
` sailor named Dantes?" `
` `
` "Dantes? Did I know poor dear Edmond? Why, Edmond Dantes and `
` myself were intimate friends!" exclaimed Caderousse, whose `
` countenance flushed darkly as he caught the penetrating gaze `
` of the abbe fixed on him, while the clear, calm eye of the `
` questioner seemed to dilate with feverish scrutiny. `
` `
` "You remind me," said the priest, "that the young man `
` concerning whom I asked you was said to bear the name of `
` Edmond." `
` `
` "Said to bear the name!" repeated Caderousse, becoming `
` excited and eager. "Why, he was so called as truly as I `
` myself bore the appellation of Gaspard Caderousse; but tell `
` me, I pray, what has become of poor Edmond? Did you know `
` him? Is he alive and at liberty? 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. `
` `
` "Poor fellow, poor fellow!" murmured Caderousse. "Well, `
` there, sir, is another proof that good people are never `
` rewarded on this earth, and that none but the wicked `
` prosper. Ah," continued Caderousse, speaking in the highly `
` colored language of the south, "the world grows worse and `
` worse. Why does not God, if he really hates the wicked, as `
` he is said to do, send down brimstone and fire, and consume `
` them altogether?" `
` `
` "You speak as though you had loved this young Dantes," `
` observed the abbe, without taking any notice of his `
` companion's vehemence. `
` `
` "And so I did," replied Caderousse; "though once, I confess, `
` I envied him his good fortune. But I swear to you, sir, I `
` swear to you, by everything a man holds dear, I have, since `
` then, deeply and sincerely lamented his unhappy fate." There `
` was a brief silence, during which the fixed, searching eye `
` of the abbe was employed in scrutinizing the agitated `
` features of the inn-keeper. `
` `
` "You knew the poor lad, then?" continued Caderousse. `
` `
` "I was called to see him on his dying bed, that I might `
` administer to him the consolations of religion." `
` `
` "And of what did he die?" asked Caderousse in a choking `
` voice. `
` `
` "Of what, think you, do young and strong men die in prison, `
` when they have scarcely numbered their thirtieth year, `
` unless it be of imprisonment?" Caderousse wiped away the `
` large beads of perspiration that gathered on his brow. `
` `
` "But the strangest part of the story is," resumed the abbe, `
` "that Dantes, even in his dying moments, swore by his `
` crucified Redeemer, that he was utterly ignorant of the `
` cause of his detention." `
` `
` "And so he was," murmured Caderousse. "How should he have `
` been otherwise? Ah, sir, the poor fellow told you the `
` truth." `
` `
` "And for that reason, he besought me to try and clear up a `
`