The Count of Monte Cristo

“Thus, then, sir, this credit inspires you with considerable apprehensions!”

“To say truth, I consider it lost.”

“Well, then, I will buy it of you.”

“You?”

“Yes, I!”

“But at a tremendous discount, of course?”

“No; for two hundred thousand francs. Our house,” added the Englishman, with a laugh, “does not do things in that way.”

“And you will pay———”

“Ready money.”

And the Englishman drew from his pocket a bundle of bank-notes, which might have been twice the sum M. de Boville feared to lose. A ray of joy passed across M. de Boville’s countenance, yet he made an effort over himself, and said:

“Sir, I ought to tell you that, in all probability, you will not have six per cent. of this sum.”

“That’s no affair of mine,” replied the Englishman, “that is the affair of the house of Thomson and French, in whose name I act. They have, perhaps, some motive to serve in hastening the ruin of a rival firm. But all I know, sir, is, that I am ready to hand you over this sum in exchange for your assignment of the debt. I only ask a brokerage.”

“Of course, that is perfectly just,” cried M. de Boville. “The commission is usually one and a half; will you have two—three—five per cent., or even more? Say!”

“Sir,” replied the Englishman, laughing, “I am like my house, and do not do such things—no, the commission I ask is quite different.”

“Name it, sir, I beg.”

“You are the inspector of prisons?”

“I have been so these fourteen years.”

“You keep the registers of entries and departures?”

“I do.”

“To these registers there are added notes relative to the prisoners?”

“There are special reports on every prisoner.”

“Well, sir, I was educated at Rome by a poor devil of an abbé, who disappeared suddenly. I have since learned that he was confined in the Château d’If, and I should like to learn some particulars of his death.”

“What was his name?”

“The Abbé Faria.”

“Oh, I recollect him, perfectly,” cried M. de Boville; “he was crazy.”

“So they said.”

“Oh, he was, decidedly.”

“Very possibly, but what sort of madness was it?”

“He pretended to know of an immense treasure, and offered vast sums to government if they would liberate him.”

“Poor devil! and he is dead?”

“Yes, sir; five or six months ago, last February.”

“You have a good memory, sir, to recollect dates so well!”

“I recollect this, because the poor devil’s death was accompanied by a singular circumstance.”

“May I ask what that was?” said the Englishman, with an expression of curiosity which a close observer would have been astonished at discovering in his phlegmatic countenance.

“Oh, dear, yes, sir; the abbé’s dungeon was forty or fifty feet distant from that of an old agent of Bonaparte’s—one of those who had the most contributed to the return of the usurper in 1815, a very resolute and very dangerous man.”

“Indeed!” said the Englishman.

“Yes,” replied M. de Boville; “I myself had occasion to see this man in 1816 or 1817, and we could only go into his dungeon with a file of soldiers: that man made a deep impression on me; I shall never forget his countenance!”

The Englishman smiled imperceptibly.

“And you say, sir,” he said, “that the two dungeons———”

“Were separated by a distance of fifty feet; but it appears that this Edmond Dantès———”

“This dangerous man’s name was———”

“Edmond Dantès. It appears, sir, that this Edmond Dantès had procured tools, or made them, for they found a passage by which the prisoners communicated.”

“This passage was formed, no doubt, with an intention of escape?”

“No doubt; but unfortunately for the prisoners, the Abbé Faria had an attack of catalepsy, and died.”

“That must have cut short the projects of escape.”

“For the dead man, yes,” replied M. de Boville, “but not for the survivor: on the contrary, this Dantès saw a means of accelerating his escape. He, no doubt, thought that prisoners who died in the Château d’If were interred in a burial-ground as usual, and he conveyed the dead man into his own cell, assumed his place in the sack in which they had sewed up the defunct, and awaited the moment of interment.”

“It was a bold step, and one that indicated some courage,” remarked the Englishman.

“As I have already told you, sir, he was a very dangerous man; and fortunately, by his own act disembarrassed the government of the fears it had on his account.”

“How was that?”

“How? do you not comprehend?”