sub-lieutenant, stood before her. It was not the one she wished for
most, but it seemed as if a part of her past life had returned to
her. Mercedes seized Fernand's hands with a transport which he took
for love, but which was only joy at being no longer alone in the
world, and seeing at last a friend, after long hours of solitary
sorrow. And then, it must be confessed, Fernand had never been
hated — he was only not precisely loved. Another possessed all
Mercedes' heart; that other was absent, had disappeared, perhaps
was dead. At this last thought Mercedes burst into a flood of
tears, and wrung her hands in agony; but the thought, which she had
always repelled before when it was suggested to her by another,
came now in full force upon her mind; and then, too, old Dantes
incessantly said to her, `Our Edmond is dead; if he were not, he
would return to us.' The old man died, as I have told you; had he
lived, Mercedes, perchance, had not become the wife of another, for
he would have been there to reproach her infidelity. Fernand saw
this, and when he learned of the old man's death he returned. He
was now a lieutenant. At his first coming he had not said a word of
love to Mercedes; at the second he reminded her that he loved her.
Mercedes begged for six months more in which to await and mourn for
Edmond."
"So that," said the abbe, with a bitter smile, "that makes
eighteen months in all. What more could the most devoted lover
desire?" Then he murmured the words of the English poet, "`Frailty,
thy name is woman.'"
"Six months afterwards," continued Caderousse, "the marriage
took place in the church of Accoules."
"The very church in which she was to have married Edmond,"
murmured the priest; "there was only a change of bride-grooms."
"Well, Mercedes was married," proceeded Caderousse; "but
although in the eyes of the world she appeared calm, she nearly
fainted as she passed La Reserve, where, eighteen months before,
the betrothal had been celebrated with him whom she might havethe betrothal had been celebrated with him whom she might have
known she still loved had she looked to the bottom of her heart.
Fernand, more happy, but not more at his ease — for I saw at this
time he was in constant dread of Edmond's return — Fernand was very
anxious to get his wife away, and to depart himself. There were too
many unpleasant possibilities associated with the Catalans, and
eight days after the wedding they left Marseilles."
"Did you ever see Mercedes again?" inquired the priest.
"Yes, during the Spanish war, at Perpignan, where Fernand had
left her; she was attending to the education of her son." The abbe
started. "Her son?" said he.
"Yes," replied Caderousse, "little Albert."
"But, then, to be able to instruct her child," continued the
abbe, "she must have received an education herself. I understood
from Edmond that she was the daughter of a simple fisherman,
beautiful but uneducated."
"Oh," replied Caderousse, "did he know so little of his lovely
betrothed? Mercedes might have been a queen, sir, if the crown were
to be placed on the heads of the loveliest and most intelligent.
Fernand's fortune was already waxing great, and she developed with
his growing fortune. She learned drawing, music — everything.
Besides, I believe, between ourselves, she did this in order to
distract her mind, that she might forget; and she only filled her
head in order to alleviate the weight on her heart. But now her
position in life is assured," continued Caderousse; "no doubt
fortune and honors have comforted her; she is rich, a countess, and
yet" — Caderousse paused.
"And yet what?" asked the abbe.
"Yet, I am sure, she is not happy," said Caderousse.
"What makes you believe this?"
"Why, when I found myself utterly destitute, I thought my old
friends would, perhaps, assist me. So I went to Danglars, who would
not even receive me. I called on Fernand, who sent me a hundred
francs by his valet-de-chambre."
"Then you did not see either of them?"
"No, but Madame de Morcerf saw me."
"How was that?""Then you did not see either of them?"
"No, but Madame de Morcerf saw me."
"How was that?"
"As I went away a purse fell at my feet — it contained five and
twenty louis; I raised my head quickly, and saw Mercedes, who at
once shut the blind."
"And M. de Villefort?" asked the abbe.
"Oh, he never was a friend of mine, I did not know him, and I
had nothing to ask of him."
"Do you not know what became of him, and the share he had in
Edmond's misfortunes?"
"No; I only know that some time after Edmond's arrest, he
married Mademoiselle de Saint-Meran, and soon after left
Marseilles; no doubt he has been as lucky as the rest; no doubt he
is as rich as Danglars, as high in station as Fernand. I only, as
you see, have remained poor, wretched, and forgotten."
"You are mistaken, my friend," replied the abbe; "God may seem
sometimes to forget for a time, while his justice reposes, but
there always comes a moment when he remembers — and behold — a
proof!" As he spoke, the abbe took the diamond from his pocket, and
giving it to Caderousse, said, — "Here, my friend, take this
diamond, it is yours."
"What, for me only?" cried Caderousse, "ah, sir, do not jest
with me!"
"This diamond was to have been shared among his friends. Edmond
had one friend only, and thus it cannot be divided. Take the
diamond, then, and sell it; it is worth fifty thousand francs, and
I repeat my wish that this sum may suffice to release you from your
wretchedness."
"Oh, sir," said Caderousse, putting out one hand timidly, and
with the other wiping away the perspiration which bedewed his brow,
— "Oh, sir, do not make a jest of the happiness or despair of a
man."
"I know what happiness and what despair are, and I never make a
jest of such feelings. Take it, then, but in exchange — "
Caderousse, who touched the diamond, withdrew his hand. The abbe
smiled. "In exchange," he continued, "give me the red silk purse
that M. Morrel left on old Dantes' chimney-piece, and which you
tell me is still in your hands." Caderousse, more and more