The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated: Chapter 4 - Conspiracy

Too Long; Didn't Read

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!”