The day following that on which the conversation we haverelated took place, the Count of Monte Cristo set out forAuteuil, accompanied by Ali and several attendants, and alsotaking with him some horses whose qualities he was desirousof ascertaining. He was induced to undertake this journey,of which the day before he had not even thought and whichhad not occurred to Andrea either, by the arrival ofBertuccio from Normandy with intelligence respecting thehouse and sloop. The house was ready, and the sloop whichhad arrived a week before lay at anchor in a small creekwith her crew of six men, who had observed all the requisiteformalities and were ready again to put to sea.

The count praised Bertuccio's zeal, and ordered him toprepare for a speedy departure, as his stay in France wouldnot be prolonged more than a mouth. "Now," said he, "I mayrequire to go in one night from Paris to Treport; let eightfresh horses be in readiness on the road, which will enableme to go fifty leagues in ten hours."

"Your highness had already expressed that wish," saidBertuccio, "and the horses are ready. I have bought them,and stationed them myself at the most desirable posts, thatis, in villages, where no one generally stops."

"That's well," said Monte Cristo; "I remain here a day ortwo - arrange accordingly." As Bertuccio was leaving theroom to give the requisite orders, Baptistin opened thedoor: he held a letter on a silver waiter.

"What are you doing here?" asked the count, seeing himcovered with dust; "I did not send for you, I think?"

Baptistin, without answering, approached the count, andpresented the letter. "Important and urgent," said he. Thecount opened the letter, and read: -

"M. de Monte Cristo is apprised that this night a man willenter his house in the Champs-Elysees with the intention ofcarrying off some papers supposed to be in the secretary inthe dressing-room. The count's well-known courage willrender unnecessary the aid of the police, whose interferencemight seriously affect him who sends this advice. The count,by any opening from the bedroom, or by concealing himself inthe dressing-room, would be able to defend his propertyhimself. Many attendents or apparent precautions wouldprevent the villain from the attempt, and M. de Monte Cristowould lose the opportunity of discovering an enemy whomchance has revealed to him who now sends this warning to thecount, - a warning he might not be able to send anothertime, if this first attempt should fail and another bemade."

The count's first idea was that this was an artifice - agross deception, to draw his attention from a minor dangerin order to expose him to a greater. He was on the point ofsending the letter to the commissary of police,notwithstanding the advice of his anonymous friend, orperhaps because of that advice, when suddenly the ideaoccurred to him that it might be some personal enemy, whomhe alone should recognize and over whom, if such were thecase, he alone would gain any advantage, as Fiesco* had doneover the Moor who would have killed him. We know the Count'svigorous and daring mind, denying anything to be impossible,with that energy which marks the great man. From his pastlife, from his resolution to shrink from nothing, the counthad acquired an inconceivable relish for the contests inwhich he had engaged, sometimes against nature, that is tosay, against God, and sometimes against the world, that is,against the devil.

The Genoese conspirator.

"They do not want my papers," said Monte Cristo, "they wantto kill me; they are no robbers, but assassins. I will notallow the prefect of police to interfere with my privateaffairs. I am rich enough, forsooth, to distribute hisauthority on this occasion." The count recalled Baptistin,who had left the room after delivering the letter. "Returnto Paris," said he; "assemble the servants who remain there.I want all my household at Auteuil."

"But will no one remain in the house, my lord?" askedBaptistin.

"Yes, the porter."

"My lord will remember that the lodge is at a distance fromthe house."

"Well?"

"The house might be stripped without his hearing the leastnoise."

"By whom?"

"By thieves."

"You are a fool, M. Baptistin. Thieves might strip the house- it would annoy me less than to be disobeyed." Baptistinbowed.

"You understand me?" said the count. "Bring your comradeshere, one and all; but let everything remain as usual, onlyclose the shutters of the ground floor."

"And those of the second floor?"

"You know they are never closed. Go!"

The count signified his intention of dining alone, and thatno one but Ali should attend him. Having dined with hisusual tranquillity and moderation, the count, making asignal to Ali to follow him, went out by the side-gate andon reaching the Bois de Boulogne turned, apparently withoutdesign towards Paris and at twilight; found himself oppositehis house in the Champs-Elysees. All was dark; one solitary,feeble light was burning in the porter's lodge, about fortypaces distant from the house, as Baptistin had said. MonteCristo leaned against a tree, and with that scrutinizingglance which was so rarely deceived, looked up and down theavenue, examined the passers-by, and carefully looked downthe neighboring streets, to see that no one was concealed.Ten minutes passed thus, and he was convinced that no onewas watching him. He hastened to the side-door with Ali,entered hurriedly, and by the servants' staircase, of whichhe had the key, gained his bedroom without opening ordisarranging a single curtain, without even the porterhaving the slightest suspicion that the house, which hesupposed empty, contained its chief occupant.

Arrived in his bedroom, the count motioned to Ali to stop;then he passed into the dressing-room, which he examined.Everything appeared as usual - the precious secretary inits place, and the key in the secretary. He double lockedit, took the key, returned to the bedroom door, removed thedouble staple of the bolt, and went in. Meanwhile Ali hadprocured the arms the count required - namely, a shortcarbine and a pair of double-barrelled pistols, with whichas sure an aim might be taken as with a single-barrelledone. Thus armed, the count held the lives of five men in hishands. It was about half-past nine. The count and Ali ate inhaste a crust of bread and drank a glass of Spanish wine;then Monte Cristo slipped aside one of the movable panels,which enabled him to see into the adjoining room. He hadwithin his reach his pistols and carbine, and Ali, standingnear him, held one of the small Arabian hatchets, whose formhas not varied since the Crusades. Through one of thewindows of the bedroom, on a line with that in thedressing-room, the count could see into the street.

Two hours passed thus. It was intensely dark; still Ali,thanks to his wild nature, and the count, thanks doubtlessto his long confinement, could distinguish in the darknessthe slightest movement of the trees. The little light in thelodge had long been extinct. It might be expected that theattack, if indeed an attack was projected, would be madefrom the staircase of the ground floor, and not from awindow; in Monte Cristo's opinion, the villains sought hislife, not his money. It would be his bedroom they wouldattack, and they must reach it by the back staircase, or bythe window in the dressing-room. The clock of the Invalidesstruck a quarter to twelve; the west wind bore on itsmoistened gusts the doleful vibration of the three strokes.

As the last stroke died away, the count thought he heard aslight noise in the dressing-room; this first sound, orrather this first grinding, was followed by a second, then athird; at the fourth, the count knew what to expect. A firmand well-practised hand was engaged in cutting the foursides of a pane of glass with a diamond. The count felt hisheart beat more rapidly. Inured as men may be to danger,forewarned as they may be of peril, they understand, by thefluttering of the heart and the shuddering of the frame, theenormous difference between a dream and a reality, betweenthe project and the execution. However, Monte Cristo onlymade a sign to apprise Ali, who, understanding that dangerwas approaching from the other side, drew nearer to hismaster. Monte Cristo was eager to ascertain the strength andnumber of his enemies.

The window whence the noise proceeded was opposite theopening by which the count could see into the dressing-room.He fixed his eyes on that window - he distinguished ashadow in the darkness; then one of the panes became quiteopaque, as if a sheet of paper were stuck on the outside,then the square cracked without falling. Through the openingan arm was passed to find the fastening, then a second; thewindow turned on its hinges, and a man entered. He wasalone.

"That's a daring rascal," whispered the count.

At that moment Ali touched him slightly on the shoulder. Heturned; Ali pointed to the window of the room in which theywere, facing the street. "I see!" said he, "there are two ofthem; one does the work while the other stands guard." Hemade a sign to Ali not to lose sight of the man in thestreet, and turned to the one in the dressing-room.

The glass-cutter had entered, and was feeling his way, hisarms stretched out before him. At last he appeared to havemade himself familiar with his surroundings. There were twodoors; he bolted them both.

When he drew near to the bedroom door, Monte Cristo expectedthat he was coming in, and raised one of his pistols; but hesimply heard the sound of the bolts sliding in their copperrings. It was only a precaution. The nocturnal visitor,ignorant of the fact that the count had removed the staples,might now think himself at home, and pursue his purpose withfull security. Alone and free to act as he wished, the manthen drew from his pocket something which the count couldnot discern, placed it on a stand, then went straight to thesecretary, felt the lock, and contrary to his expectationfound that the key was missing. But the glass-cutter was aprudent man who had provided for all emergencies. The countsoon heard the rattling of a bunch of skeleton keys, such asthe locksmith brings when called to force a lock, and whichthieves call nightingales, doubtless from the music of theirnightly song when they grind against the bolt. "Ah, ha,"whispered Monte Cristo with a smile of disappointment, "heis only a thief."

But the man in the dark could not find the right key. Hereached the instrument he had placed on the stand, touched aspring, and immediately a pale light, just bright enough torender objects distinct, was reflected on his hands andcountenance. "By heavens," exclaimed Monte Cristo, startingback, "it is" -

Ali raised his hatchet. "Don't stir," whispered MonteCristo, "and put down your hatchet; we shall require noarms." Then he added some words in a low tone, for theexclamation which surprise had drawn from the count, faintas it had been, had startled the man who remained in thepose of the old knife-grinder. It was an order the count hadjust given, for immediately Ali went noiselessly, andreturned, bearing a black dress and a three-cornered hat.Meanwhile Monte Cristo had rapidly taken off his great-coat,waistcoat, and shirt, and one might distinguish by theglimmering through the open panel that he wore a plianttunic of steel mail, of which the last in France, wheredaggers are no longer dreaded, was worn by King Louis XVI.,who feared the dagger at his breast, and whose head wascleft with a hatchet. The tunic soon disappeared under along cassock, as did his hair under a priest's wig; thethree-cornered hat over this effectually transformed thecount into an abbe.

The man, hearing nothing more, stood erect, and while MonteCristo was completing his disguise had advanced straight tothe secretary, whose lock was beginning to crack under hisnightingale.

"Try again," whispered the count, who depended on the secretspring, which was unknown to the picklock, clever as hemight be - "try again, you have a few minutes' work there."And he advanced to the window. The man whom he had seenseated on a fence had got down, and was still pacing thestreet; but, strange as it appeared, he cared not for thosewho might pass from the avenue of the Champs-Elysees or bythe Faubourg St. Honore; his attention was engrossed withwhat was passing at the count's, and his only aim appearedto be to discern every movement in the dressing-room.

Monte Cristo suddenly struck his finger on his forehead anda smile passed over his lips; then drawing near to Ali, hewhispered, -

"Remain here, concealed in the dark, and whatever noise youhear, whatever passes, only come in or show yourself if Icall you." Ali bowed in token of strict obedience. MonteCristo then drew a lighted taper from a closet, and when thethief was deeply engaged with his lock, silently opened thedoor, taking care that the light should shine directly onhis face. The door opened so quietly that the thief heard nosound; but, to his astonishment, the room was suddenlyilluminated. He turned.

"Ah, good-evening, my dear M. Caderousse," said MonteCristo; "what are you doing here, at such an hour?"

"The Abbe Busoni!" exclaimed Caderousse; and, not knowinghow this strange apparition could have entered when he hadbolted the doors, he let fall his bunch of keys, andremained motionless and stupefied. The count placed himselfbetween Caderousse and the window, thus cutting off from thethief his only chance of retreat. "The Abbe Busoni!"repeated Caderousse, fixing his haggard gaze on the count.

"Yes, undoubtedly, the Abbe Busoni himself," replied MonteCristo. "And I am very glad you recognize me, dear M.Caderousse; it proves you have a good memory, for it must beabout ten years since we last met." This calmness of Busoni,combined with his irony and boldness, staggered Caderousse.

"The abbe, the abbe!" murmured he, clinching his fists, andhis teeth chattering.

"So you would rob the Count of Monte Cristo?" continued thefalse abbe.

"Reverend sir," murmured Caderousse, seeking to regain thewindow, which the count pitilessly blocked - "reverend sir,I don't know - believe me - I take my oath" -

"A pane of glass out," continued the count, "a dark lantern,a bunch of false keys, a secretary half forced - it istolerably evident" -

Caderousse was choking; he looked around for some corner tohide in, some way of escape.

"Come, come," continued the count, "I see you are still thesame, - an assassin."

"Reverend sir, since you know everything, you know it wasnot I - it was La Carconte; that was proved at the trial,since I was only condemned to the galleys."

"Is your time, then, expired, since I find you in a fair wayto return there?"

"No, reverend sir; I have been liberated by some one."

"That some one has done society a great kindness."

"Ah," said Caderousse, "I had promised" -

"And you are breaking your promise!" interrupted MonteCristo.

"Alas, yes!" said Caderousse very uneasily.

"A bad relapse, that will lead you, if I mistake not, to thePlace de Greve. So much the worse, so much the worse - diavolo, as they say in my country."

"Reverend sir, I am impelled" -

"Every criminal says the same thing."

"Poverty" -

"Pshaw!" said Busoni disdainfully; "poverty may make a manbeg, steal a loaf of bread at a baker's door, but not causehim to open a secretary in a house supposed to be inhabited.And when the jeweller Johannes had just paid you 40,000francs for the diamond I had given you, and you killed himto get the diamond and the money both, was that alsopoverty?"

"Pardon, reverend sir," said Caderousse; "you have saved mylife once, save me again!"

"That is but poor encouragement."

"Are you alone, reverend sir, or have you there soldiersready to seize me?"

"I am alone," said the abbe, "and I will again have pity onyou, and will let you escape, at the risk of the freshmiseries my weakness may lead to, if you tell me the truth."

"Ah, reverend sir," cried Caderousse, clasping his hands,and drawing nearer to Monte Cristo, "I may indeed say youare my deliverer!"

"You mean to say you have been freed from confinement?"

"Yes, that is true, reverend sir."

"Who was your liberator?"

"An Englishman."

"What was his name?"

"Lord Wilmore."

"I know him; I shall know if you lie."

"Ah, reverend sir, I tell you the simple truth."

"Was this Englishman protecting you?"

"No, not me, but a young Corsican, my companion."

"What was this young Corsican's name?"

"Benedetto."

"Is that his Christian name?"

"He had no other; he was a foundling."

"Then this young man escaped with you?"

"He did."

"In what way?"

"We were working at St. Mandrier, near Toulon. Do you knowSt. Mandrier?"

"I do."

"In the hour of rest, between noon and one o'clock" -

"Galley-slaves having a nap after dinner! We may well pitythe poor fellows!" said the abbe.

"Nay," said Caderousse, "one can't always work - one is nota dog."

"So much the better for the dogs," said Monte Cristo.

"While the rest slept, then, we went away a short distance;we severed our fetters with a file the Englishman had givenus, and swam away."

"And what is become of this Benedetto?"

"I don't know."

"You ought to know."

"No, in truth; we parted at Hyeres." And, to give moreweight to his protestation, Caderousse advanced another steptowards the abbe, who remained motionless in his place, ascalm as ever, and pursuing his interrogation. "You lie,"said the Abbe Busoni, with a tone of irresistible authority.

"Reverend sir!"

"You lie! This man is still your friend, and you, perhaps,make use of him as your accomplice."

"Oh, reverend sir!"

"Since you left Toulon what have you lived on? Answer me!"

"On what I could get."

"You lie," repeated the abbe a third time, with a still moreimperative tone. Caderousse, terrified, looked at the count."You have lived on the money he has given you."

"True," said Caderousse; "Benedetto has become the son of agreat lord."

"How can he be the son of a great lord?"

"A natural son."

"And what is that great lord's name?"

"The Count of Monte Cristo, the very same in whose house weare."

"Benedetto the count's son?" replied Monte Cristo,astonished in his turn.

"Well, I should think so, since the count has found him afalse father - since the count gives him four thousandfrancs a month, and leaves him 500,000 francs in his will."

"Ah, yes," said the factitious abbe, who began tounderstand; "and what name does the young man bearmeanwhile?"

"Andrea Cavalcanti."

"Is it, then, that young man whom my friend the Count ofMonte Cristo has received into his house, and who is goingto marry Mademoiselle Danglars?"

"Exactly."

"And you suffer that, you wretch - you, who know his lifeand his crime?"

"Why should I stand in a comrade's way?" said Caderousse.

"You are right; it is not you who should apprise M.Danglars, it is I."

"Do not do so, reverend sir."

"Why not?"

"Because you would bring us to ruin."

"And you think that to save such villains as you I willbecome an abettor of their plot, an accomplice in theircrimes?"

"Reverend sir," said Caderousse, drawing still nearer.

"I will expose all."

"To whom?"

"To M. Danglars."

"By heaven!" cried Caderousse, drawing from his waistcoat anopen knife, and striking the count in the breast, "you shalldisclose nothing, reverend sir!" To Caderousse's greatastonishment, the knife, instead of piercing the count'sbreast, flew back blunted. At the same moment the countseized with his left hand the assassin's wrist, and wrung itwith such strength that the knife fell from his stiffenedfingers, and Caderousse uttered a cry of pain. But thecount, disregarding his cry, continued to wring the bandit'swrist, until, his arm being dislocated, he fell first on hisknees, then flat on the floor. The count then placed hisfoot on his head, saying, "I know not what restrains me fromcrushing thy skull, rascal."

"Ah, mercy - mercy!" cried Caderousse. The count withdrewhis foot. "Rise!" said he. Caderousse rose.

"What a wrist you have, reverend sir!" said Caderousse.stroking his arm, all bruised by the fleshy pincers whichhad held it; "what a wrist!"

"Silence! God gives me strength to overcome a wild beastlike you; in the name of that God I act, - remember that,wretch, - and to spare thee at this moment is still servinghim."

"Oh!" said Caderousse, groaning with pain.

"Take this pen and paper, and write what I dictate."

"I don't know how to write, reverend sir."

"You lie! Take this pen, and write!" Caderousse, awed by thesuperior power of the abbe, sat down and wrote: -

Sir, - The man whom you are receiving at your house, and towhom you intend to marry your daughter, is a felon whoescaped with me from confinement at Toulon. He was No. 59,and I No. 58. He was called Benedetto, but he is ignorant ofhis real name, having never known his parents.

"Sign it!" continued the count.

"But would you ruin me?"

"If I sought your ruin, fool, I should drag you to the firstguard-house; besides, when that note is delivered, in allprobability you will have no more to fear. Sign it, then!"

Caderousse signed it. "The address, `To monsieur the BaronDanglars, banker, Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin.'" Caderoussewrote the address. The abbe took the note. "Now," said he,"that suffices - begone!"

"Which way?"

"The way you came."

"You wish me to get out at that window?"

"You got in very well."

"Oh, you have some design against me, reverend sir."

"Idiot! what design can I have?"

"Why, then, not let me out by the door?"

"What would be the advantage of waking the porter?" -

"Ah, reverend sir, tell me, do you wish me dead?"

"I wish what God wills."

"But swear that you will not strike me as I go down."

"Cowardly fool!"

"What do you intend doing with me?"

"I ask you what can I do? I have tried to make you a happyman, and you have turned out a murderer."

"Oh, monsieur," said Caderousse, "make one more attempt - try me once more!"

"I will," said the count. "Listen - you know if I may berelied on."

"Yes," said Caderousse.

"If you arrive safely at home" -

"What have I to fear, except from you?"

"If you reach your home safely, leave Paris, leave France,and wherever you may be, so long as you conduct yourselfwell, I will send you a small annuity; for, if you returnhome safely, then" -

"Then?" asked Caderousse, shuddering.

"Then I shall believe God has forgiven you, and I willforgive you too."

"As true as I am a Christian," stammered Caderousse, "youwill make me die of fright!"

"Now begone," said the count, pointing to the window.

Caderousse, scarcely yet relying on this promise, put hislegs out of the window and stood on the ladder. "Now godown," said the abbe, folding his arms. Understanding he hadnothing more to fear from him, Caderousse began to go down.Then the count brought the taper to the window, that itmight be seen in the Champs-Elysees that a man was gettingout of the window while another held a light.

"What are you doing, reverend sir? Suppose a watchman shouldpass?" And he blew out the light. He then descended, but itwas only when he felt his foot touch the ground that he wassatisfied of his safety.

Monte Cristo returned to his bedroom, and, glancing rapidlyfrom the garden to the street, he saw first Caderousse, whoafter walking to the end of the garden, fixed his ladderagainst the wall at a different part from where he came in.The count then looking over into the street, saw the man whoappeared to be waiting run in the same direction, and placehimself against the angle of the wall where Caderousse wouldcome over. Caderousse climbed the ladder slowly, and lookedover the coping to see if the street was quiet. No one couldbe seen or heard. The clock of the Invalides struck one.Then Caderousse sat astride the coping, and drawing up hisladder passed it over the wall; then he began to descend, orrather to slide down by the two stanchions, which he didwith an ease which proved how accustomed he was to theexercise. But, once started, he could not stop. In vain didhe see a man start from the shadow when he was halfway down- in vain did he see an arm raised as he touched theground. Before he could defend himself that arm struck himso violently in the back that he let go the ladder, crying,"Help!" A second blow struck him almost immediately in theside, and he fell, calling, "Help, murder!" Then, as herolled on the ground, his adversary seized him by the hair,and struck him a third blow in the chest. This timeCaderousse endeavored to call again, but he could only uttera groan, and he shuddered as the blood flowed from his threewounds. The assassin, finding that he no longer cried out,lifted his head up by the hair; his eyes were closed, andthe mouth was distorted. The murderer, supposing him dead,let fall his head and disappeared. Then Caderousse, feelingthat he was leaving him, raised himself on his elbow, andwith a dying voice cried with great effort, "Murder! I amdying! Help, reverend sir, - help!"

This mournful appeal pierced the darkness. The door of theback-staircase opened, then the side-gate of the garden, andAli and his master were on the spot with lights.