# The Count of Monte-Cristo/Volume 1/Chapter 2

Contents
CHAPTER II
FATHER AND SON
E will leave Danglars struggling with the feelings of hatred, and endeavoring to insinuate in the ear of the shipowner some evil suspicions against his comrade, and follow Dantès, who, after having traversed the Cannebière, took the Rue de Noailles, and entering into a small house situated on the left side of the Allées de Meilhan, rapidly ascended four stories of a dark staircase, holding the baluster in one hand, whilst with the other he repressed the beatings of his heart, and paused before a half-opened door, which revealed all the interior of a small apartment.
This apartment was occupied by Dantès' father.
The news of the arrival of the Pharaon had not yet reached the old man, who, mounted on a chair, was amusing himself with staking, with tremulous hand, some nasturtiums which, mingled with clematis, formed a kind of trellis at his window.
Suddenly, he felt an arm thrown round 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?" inquired the young man, much alarmed, "Are you ill?"
"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 really seem 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 come to you without any warning. Come now, look cheerfully at me, instead of gazing as you do with your eyes so wide. Here I am back again, and we will now be happy."
​"Yes, yes, my boy, so we will — so we will," replied the old man; "but how shall we be happy? Will 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 grief of others; but, Heaven knows, I did not desire this good fortune: it has happened, and I really cannot affect 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 great good fortune."
"Well, then, with the first money I touch, I mean you to have a small house, with a garden to plant your clematis, your nasturtiums, and your honeysuckles. But what ails you, father? Are not you well?"
"'Tis nothing, nothing; it will soon pass away."
And as he said so the old man's strength failed him, and he fell backward.
"Come, come," said the young man, "a glass of wine, father, will revive you. Where do you keep your wine?"
"No, no; thank ye. 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 more wine."
"What! no more wine?" said Dantès, turning pale and looking alternately at the hollow and pallid cheeks of the old man and the empty cupboards. "What! no wine? Have you wanted money, father?"
"I want nothing since I see you," said the old man.
"Yet," stammered Dantès, 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 go and get paid by M. Morrel; and so, you see, lest he might do you an injury———"
"Well — "
"Why, I paid him."
"But," cried Dantès, "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 made a sign in the affirmative.
​"So that you have lived for three months on sixty francs?" muttered the young man.
"You know how little I require," said the old man.
"Heaven pardon me," cried Edmond, going on his knees before the old man.
"What are you doing?"
"You have wounded my very heart."
"Never mind it, for I see you once more," said the old man; "and now all is forgotten — all is well again."
"Yes, here I am," said the young man, "with a happy 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, whose contents consisted of a dozen pieces of gold, five or six crowns, and some smaller coin.
The countenance of old Dantès 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, whilst 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 finished his sentence in a low voice, there appeared, framed by the door of the landing, the black and bearded head of Caderousse. He was a man of twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, and held in his hand a morsel of cloth, which, in his capacity as a tailor, he was about to turn into the lining of a coat.
"What! is it you, Edmond, returned?" said he, with a broad Marseillaise accent, and a broad grin that displayed his teeth as white as ivory.
"Yes, as you see, neighbor Caderousse; and ready to be agreeable to you in any and every way," replied Dantès, but ill-concealing his coldness under this appearance 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." Dantès 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 Dantès' 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.
"'What! 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 Dantès 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 abscence, and to convince me he emptied his purse on the table. Come, father," added Dantès, "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! the trade keeps me. 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 Dantès.
"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 Dantès.
"Then you were wrong to refuse to dine with him."
"What! did you refuse to dine with him!" said old Dantès; "and did he invite you to dine?"
"Yes, my dear father," replied Edmund, 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 be with 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 vex the owner."
"But I explained to him the cause of my refusal," replied Dantès; "and I hope he fully understood it."
"Yes, but to be captain one must give way a little to one's patrons."
"I hope to be captain without that," said Dantès.
"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 citadel of Saint Nicolas who will not be sorry to hear it."
"Mercédès?" 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 Dantès; "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 Dantès; she is not his wife yet, I fancy."
"No, but according to all probability she soon will be," replied Edmond.
​"Yes — yes," said Caderousse; "but you were right to be in a hurry, my boy."
"And why?"
"Because Mercédès is a very fine girl, and fine girls never lack lovers; 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 Dantès, 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 Mercédès 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, — but go and announce your arrival, and let her know all your hopes and prospects."
"I will go directly," was Edmond's reply.
Then, embracing his father, and saluting Caderousse, he left the apartment.
Caderousse lingered for a moment; then, taking leave of old Dantès, 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."
"Patience!" 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 elate about it!"
"That is to say, he is actually insolent on 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. Dantès has no longer any occasion for assistance — he is about to become a captain."
"Pooh!" said Danglars; "he is not one yet."
"Ma foi! — and it will be as well he never should be," 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 fair 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 Dantès?"
"I never like upstarts."
"Then tell me all you know relative to 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 environs of the road of the Vieilles Infirmeries."
​"What have you seen? — come, tell me!"
"Well, every time I have seen Mercédès 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 suppose so. What else can a strapping chap of twenty-one mean with a fine lass of seventeen?"
"And you say Dantès has gone to the Catalans?"
"He went before I came down."
"Let us go the same way; we will stop at La Réserve, and we can drink a glass of La Malgue, whilst we wait for news."
"Come along," said Caderousse; "but mind you pay the shot."
"Certainly," replied Danglars.
The two walked quickly to the spot alluded to; on their reaching it, they called for a bottle of wine and two glasses.
Père Pamphile had seen Dantès pass not ten minutes before.
Assured that Dantès was at the Catalans, they sat down under the budding foliage of the planes and sycamores, in the branches of which the birds were joyously singing on one of the first fair days in spring.