The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) by Alexandre Dumas Page A

that.’
    ‘Yes, I remember now,’ Dantès’ poor father muttered, clutching at this straw. ‘He told me yesterday that he had brought me a cask of coffee and one of tobacco.’
    ‘You see,’ said Danglars. ‘That’s it: while we were away, the Customs must have gone on board the
Pharaon
and discovered the contraband.’
    Mercédès did not believe any of this; and, having up to then contained her distress, she burst into a fit of sobbing.
    ‘Come, come! Don’t lose hope,’ Old Dantès said, though without really knowing what he was saying.
    ‘Hope!’ Danglars repeated.
    ‘Hope,’ Fernand tried to mutter. But the word stuck in his throat, his lips trembled and no sound emerged from them.
    ‘Gentlemen!’ cried one of the guests, who had been keeping watch from the balcony. ‘Gentlemen, a carriage! Ah, it’s Monsieur Morrel! Come now, he must surely be bringing good news.’
    Mercédès and the old man ran out to greet the shipowner, who met them at the door. M. Morrel’s face was pale.
    ‘Well?’ they all cried at once.
    ‘Well, my friends,’ the shipowner replied, shaking his head. ‘The matter is more serious than we thought.’
    ‘But, Monsieur!’ cried Mercédès. ‘He is innocent!’
    ‘I believe him to be so,’ M. Morrel replied, ‘but he is accused…’
    ‘What is he accused of?’ Old Dantès asked.
    ‘Of being an agent of Bonaparte.’
    Those readers who lived through the period in which this story takes place will recall what a dreadful accusation it was that M. Morrel had just pronounced in those days.
    Mercédès gave a cry, and the old man sank into a chair.
    ‘So,’ Caderousse muttered. ‘You lied to me, Danglars: the trick was played after all. But I do not intend to let this old man and this young woman die of grief, and I shall tell them everything.’
    ‘Hold your tongue, wretch!’ Danglars exclaimed, grasping Caderousse’s hand. ‘Otherwise I can’t answer for what may happen to you. How do you know that Dantès is not in fact guilty? The ship did call in at the island of Elba, he landed there and stayed a day in Porto Ferrajo. If he has been found with some compromisingletter on his person, anyone who takes his part will look like an accomplice.’
    Caderousse was rapidly informed of the full strength of this argument by the dictates of self-interest, and he looked at Danglars with an expression deadened by fear and grief. Having just taken one step forward, he proceeded to take two back.
    ‘So, let’s wait and see,’ he muttered.
    ‘Yes, we’ll wait,’ Danglars answered. ‘If he is innocent, he will be freed; if he is guilty, there is no sense in compromising oneself for the sake of a conspirator.’
    ‘Let’s go, then. I can’t stay here any longer.’
    ‘Yes, come on,’ said Danglars, delighted at having someone to accompany him out of the room. ‘Come, we shall let them extricate themselves as best they may.’
    They left; and Fernand, resuming his former role in support of the young woman, took Mercédès’ hand and led her back to Les Catalans. For their part, Dantès’ friends took the old man, in a state of near-collapse, back to the Allées de Meilhan.
    The news that Dantès had just been arrested as a Bonapartist agent soon spread through Marseille.
    ‘Would you have believed it, my dear Danglars?’ M. Morrel said, catching up with his supercargo and Caderousse (for he was also heading for town as fast as he could, to have some first-hand news of Edmond from the crown prosecutor, M. de Villefort, who was a slight acquaintance of his). ‘Would you believe it?’
    ‘Well, now, Monsieur!’ Danglars replied. ‘I told you that Dantès put into Elba, for no apparent reason, and that this call seemed suspicious to me.’
    ‘But did you tell anyone else of your suspicions?’
    ‘I was careful not to do any such thing,’ Danglars assured him, lowering his voice. ‘You know very well that, on account of your uncle, Monsieur Policar Morrel,