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    Chapter 2

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    Chapter 2
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    CHAPTER 2
    Father and Son.

    We will leave Danglars struggling with the demon of hatred,
    and endeavoring to insinuate in the ear of the shipowner
    some evil suspicions against his comrade, and follow Dantes,
    who, after having traversed La Canebiere, took the Rue de
    Noailles, and entering a small house, on the left of the
    Allees de Meillan, rapidly ascended four flights of a dark
    staircase, holding the baluster with one hand, while with
    the other he repressed the beatings of his heart, and paused
    before a half-open door, from which he could see the whole
    of a small room.

    This room was occupied by Dantes' father. The news of the
    arrival of the Pharaon had not yet reached the old man, who,
    mounted on a chair, was amusing himself by training with
    trembling hand the nasturtiums and sprays of clematis that
    clambered over the trellis at his window. Suddenly, he felt
    an arm thrown around his body, and a well-known voice behind
    him exclaimed, "Father -- dear father!"

    The old man uttered a cry, and turned round; then, seeing
    his son, he fell into his arms, pale and trembling.

    "What ails you, my dearest father? Are you ill?" inquired
    the young man, much alarmed.

    "No, no, my dear Edmond -- my boy -- my son! -- no; but I
    did not expect you; and joy, the surprise of seeing you so
    suddenly -- Ah, I feel as if I were going to die."

    "Come, come, cheer up, my dear father! 'Tis I -- really I!
    They say joy never hurts, and so I came to you without any
    warning. Come now, do smile, instead of looking at me so
    solemnly. Here I am back again, and we are going to be
    happy."

    "Yes, yes, my boy, so we will -- so we will," replied the
    old man; "but how shall we be happy? Shall you never leave
    me again? Come, tell me all the good fortune that has
    befallen you."

    "God forgive me," said the young man, "for rejoicing at
    happiness derived from the misery of others, but, Heaven
    knows, I did not seek this good fortune; it has happened,
    and I really cannot pretend to lament it. The good Captain
    Leclere is dead, father, and it is probable that, with the
    aid of M. Morrel, I shall have his place. Do you understand,
    father? Only imagine me a captain at twenty, with a hundred
    louis pay, and a share in the profits! Is this not more than
    a poor sailor like me could have hoped for?"

    "Yes, my dear boy," replied the old man, "it is very
    fortunate."

    "Well, then, with the first money I touch, I mean you to
    have a small house, with a garden in which to plant
    clematis, nasturtiums, and honeysuckle. But what ails you,
    father? Are you not well?"

    "'Tis nothing, nothing; it will soon pass away" -- and as he
    said so the old man's strength failed him, and he fell
    backwards.

    "Come, come," said the young man, "a glass of wine, father,
    will revive you. Where do you keep your wine?"

    "No, no; thanks. You need not look for it; I do not want
    it," said the old man.

    "Yes, yes, father, tell me where it is," and he opened two
    or three cupboards.

    "It is no use," said the old man, "there is no wine."

    "What, no wine?" said Dantes, turning pale, and looking
    alternately at the hollow cheeks of the old man and the
    empty cupboards. "What, no wine? Have you wanted money,
    father?"

    "I want nothing now that I have you," said the old man.

    "Yet," stammered Dantes, wiping the perspiration from his
    brow, -- "yet I gave you two hundred francs when I left,
    three months ago."

    "Yes, yes, Edmond, that is true, but you forgot at that time
    a little debt to our neighbor, Caderousse. He reminded me of
    it, telling me if I did not pay for you, he would be paid by
    M. Morrel; and so, you see, lest he might do you an injury"
    --

    "Well?"

    "Why, I paid him."

    "But," cried Dantes, "it was a hundred and forty francs I
    owed Caderousse."

    "Yes," stammered the old man.

    "And you paid him out of the two hundred francs I left you?"

    The old man nodded.

    "So that you have lived for three months on sixty francs,"
    muttered Edmond.

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

    "Heaven pardon me," cried Edmond, falling on his knees
    before his father.

    "What are you doing?"

    "You have wounded me to the heart."

    "Never mind it, for I see you once more," said the old man;
    "and now it's all over -- everything is all right again."

    "Yes, here I am," said the young man, "with a promising
    future and a little money. Here, father, here!" he said,
    "take this -- take it, and send for something immediately."
    And he emptied his pockets on the table, the contents
    consisting of a dozen gold pieces, five or six five-franc
    pieces, and some smaller coin. The countenance of old Dantes
    brightened.

    "Whom does this belong to?" he inquired.

    "To me, to you, to us! Take it; buy some provisions; be
    happy, and to-morrow we shall have more."

    "Gently, gently," said the old man, with a smile; "and by
    your leave I will use your purse moderately, for they would
    say, if they saw me buy too many things at a time, that I
    had been obliged to await your return, in order to be able
    to purchase them."

    "Do as you please; but, first of all, pray have a servant,
    father. I will not have you left alone so long. I have some
    smuggled coffee and most capital tobacco, in a small chest
    in the hold, which you shall have to-morrow. But, hush, here
    comes somebody."

    "'Tis Caderousse, who has heard of your arrival, and no
    doubt comes to congratulate you on your fortunate return."

    "Ah, lips that say one thing, while the heart thinks
    another," murmured Edmond. "But, never mind, he is a
    neighbor who has done us a service on a time, so he's
    welcome."

    As Edmond paused, the black and bearded head of Caderousse
    appeared at the door. He was a man of twenty-five or six,
    and held a piece of cloth, which, being a tailor, he was
    about to make into a coat-lining.

    "What, is it you, Edmond, back again?" said he, with a broad
    Marseillaise accent, and a grin that displayed his
    ivory-white teeth.

    "Yes, as you see, neighbor Caderousse; and ready to be
    agreeable to you in any and every way," replied Dantes, but
    ill-concealing his coldness under this cloak of civility.

    "Thanks -- thanks; but, fortunately, I do not want for
    anything; and it chances that at times there are others who
    have need of me." Dantes made a gesture. "I do not allude to
    you, my boy. No! -- no! I lent you money, and you returned
    it; that's like good neighbors, and we are quits."

    "We are never quits with those who oblige us," was Dantes'
    reply; "for when we do not owe them money, we owe them
    gratitude."

    "What's the use of mentioning that? What is done is done.
    Let us talk of your happy return, my boy. I had gone on the
    quay to match a piece of mulberry cloth, when I met friend
    Danglars. 'You at Marseilles?' -- 'Yes,' says he.

    "'I thought you were at Smyrna.' -- 'I was; but am now back
    again.'

    "'And where is the dear boy, our little Edmond?'

    "'Why, with his father, no doubt,' replied Danglars. And so
    I came," added Caderousse, "as fast as I could to have the
    pleasure of shaking hands with a friend."

    "Worthy Caderousse!" said the old man, "he is so much
    attached to us."

    "Yes, to be sure I am. I love and esteem you, because honest
    folks are so rare. But it seems you have come back rich, my
    boy," continued the tailor, looking askance at the handful
    of gold and silver which Dantes had thrown on the table.

    The young man remarked the greedy glance which shone in the
    dark eyes of his neighbor. "Eh," he said, negligently. "this
    money is not mine. I was expressing to my father my fears
    that he had wanted many things in my absence, and to
    convince me he emptied his purse on the table. Come, father"
    added Dantes, "put this money back in your box -- unless
    neighbor Caderousse wants anything, and in that case it is
    at his service."

    "No, my boy, no," said Caderousse. "I am not in any want,
    thank God, my living is suited to my means. Keep your money
    -- keep it, I say; -- one never has too much; -- but, at the
    same time, my boy, I am as much obliged by your offer as if
    I took advantage of it."

    "It was offered with good will," said Dantes.

    "No doubt, my boy; no doubt. Well, you stand well with M.
    Morrel I hear, -- you insinuating dog, you!"

    "M. Morrel has always been exceedingly kind to me," replied
    Dantes.

    "Then you were wrong to refuse to dine with him."

    "What, did you refuse to dine with him?" said old Dantes;
    "and did he invite you to dine?"

    "Yes, my dear father," replied Edmond, smiling at his
    father's astonishment at the excessive honor paid to his
    son.

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

    "That I might the sooner see you again, my dear father,"
    replied the young man. "I was most anxious to see you."

    "But it must have vexed M. Morrel, good, worthy man," said
    Caderousse. "And when you are looking forward to be captain,
    it was wrong to annoy the owner."

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

    "Yes, but to be captain one must do a little flattery to
    one's patrons."

    "I hope to be captain without that," said Dantes.

    "So much the better -- so much the better! Nothing will give
    greater pleasure to all your old friends; and I know one
    down there behind the Saint Nicolas citadel who will not be
    sorry to hear it."

    "Mercedes?" said the old man.

    "Yes, my dear father, and with your permission, now I have
    seen you, and know you are well and have all you require, I
    will ask your consent to go and pay a visit to the
    Catalans."

    "Go, my dear boy," said old Dantes: "and heaven bless you in
    your wife, as it has blessed me in my son!"

    "His wife!" said Caderousse; "why, how fast you go on,
    father Dantes; she is not his wife yet, as it seems to me."

    "So, but according to all probability she soon will be,"
    replied Edmond.

    "Yes -- yes," said Caderousse; "but you were right to return
    as soon as possible, my boy."

    "And why?"

    "Because Mercedes is a very fine girl, and fine girls never
    lack followers; she particularly has them by dozens."

    "Really?" answered Edmond, with a smile which had in it
    traces of slight uneasiness.

    "Ah, yes," continued Caderousse, "and capital offers, too;
    but you know, you will be captain, and who could refuse you
    then?"

    "Meaning to say," replied Dantes, with a smile which but
    ill-concealed his trouble, "that if I were not a captain" --

    "Eh -- eh!" said Caderousse, shaking his head.

    "Come, come," said the sailor, "I have a better opinion than
    you of women in general, and of Mercedes in particular; and
    I am certain that, captain or not, she will remain ever
    faithful to me."

    "So much the better -- so much the better," said Caderousse.
    "When one is going to be married, there is nothing like
    implicit confidence; but never mind that, my boy, -- go and
    announce your arrival, and let her know all your hopes and
    prospects."

    "I will go directly," was Edmond's reply; and, embracing his
    father, and nodding to Caderousse, he left the apartment.

    Caderousse lingered for a moment, then taking leave of old
    Dantes, he went downstairs to rejoin Danglars, who awaited
    him at the corner of the Rue Senac.

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

    "I have just left him," answered Caderousse.

    "Did he allude to his hope of being captain?"

    "He spoke of it as a thing already decided."

    "Indeed!" said Danglars, "he is in too much hurry, it
    appears to me."

    "Why, it seems M. Morrel has promised him the thing."

    "So that he is quite elated about it?"

    "Why, yes, he is actually insolent over the matter -- has
    already offered me his patronage, as if he were a grand
    personage, and proffered me a loan of money, as though he
    were a banker."

    "Which you refused?"

    "Most assuredly; although I might easily have accepted it,
    for it was I who put into his hands the first silver he ever
    earned; but now M. Dantes has no longer any occasion for
    assistance -- he is about to become a captain."

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

    "Ma foi, it will be as well if he is not," answered
    Caderousse; "for if he should be, there will be really no
    speaking to him."

    "If we choose," replied Danglars, "he will remain what he
    is; and perhaps become even less than he is."

    "What do you mean?"

    "Nothing -- I was speaking to myself. And is he still in
    love with the Catalane?"

    "Over head and ears; but, unless I am much mistaken, there
    will be a storm in that quarter."

    "Explain yourself."

    "Why should I?"

    "It is more important than you think, perhaps. You do not
    like Dantes?"

    "I never like upstarts."

    "Then tell me all you know about the Catalane."

    "I know nothing for certain; only I have seen things which
    induce me to believe, as I told you, that the future captain
    will find some annoyance in the vicinity of the Vieilles
    Infirmeries."

    "What have you seen? -- come, tell me!"

    "Well, every time I have seen Mercedes come into the city
    she has been accompanied by a tall, strapping, black-eyed
    Catalan, with a red complexion, brown skin, and fierce air,
    whom she calls cousin."

    "Really; and you think this cousin pays her attentions?"

    "I only suppose so. What else can a strapping chap of
    twenty-one mean with a fine wench of seventeen?"

    "And you say that Dantes has gone to the Catalans?"

    "He went before I came down."

    "Let us go the same way; we will stop at La Reserve, and we
    can drink a glass of La Malgue, whilst we wait for news."

    "Come along," said Caderousse; "but you pay the score."

    "Of course," replied Danglars; and going quickly to the
    designated place, they called for a bottle of wine, and two
    glasses.

    Pere Pamphile had seen Dantes pass not ten minutes before;
    and assured that he was at the Catalans, they sat down under
    the budding foliage of the planes and sycamores, in the
    branches of which the birds were singing their welcome to
    one of the first days of spring.
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