Chapter 204: Chapter 204

"What do you think of it, my little friend?" Caderousse asked, stirring the pan. "Ah, that smells good, doesn’t it? You know I used to be quite the cook. Remember how you used to lick your fingers clean? You were among the first to taste my dishes, and I think you enjoyed them well enough."

As he spoke, Caderousse continued peeling a fresh batch of onions, his knife working with ease.

"Listen," Andrea said irritably, "if you dragged me all the way here just to have breakfast with you, I wish the devil had taken you first!"

"My boy," Caderousse said with mock solemnity, "a man can talk while he eats. Besides, you ungrateful wretch, aren’t you happy to see an old friend? I’m practically weeping with joy."

He was indeed crying, though it would have been difficult to say whether the tears came from happiness or from the onions he was chopping. The old innkeeper’s eyes streamed freely.

"Shut up, you hypocrite," Andrea snapped. "As if you actually care about me!"

"But I do! May the devil take me if I’m lying. I know it’s a weakness," Caderousse admitted, "but I can’t help it."

"And yet that hasn’t stopped you from summoning me here to play some trick on me."

"Now, now," Caderousse said, wiping his large knife on his apron, "if I didn’t like you, do you think I’d put up with the miserable life you force me to live? Think about it for a moment. You’re wearing a servant’s uniform, which means you keep a servant yourself. Me? I have no one and have to cook my own meals. You complain about my cooking because you dine at fancy hotel restaurants and cafés. Well, I could afford a servant too. I could have a nice carriage. I could eat wherever I pleased. But why don’t I? Because I don’t want to cause trouble for my little Benedetto. Come on, just admit that I could if I wanted to, can’t you?"

The look that accompanied this speech was impossible to misunderstand.

"Fine," Andrea said. "Assuming you do care about me, why did you want me to have breakfast with you?"

"So I could have the pleasure of seeing you, my boy."

"What’s the point of seeing me when we’ve already made all our arrangements?"

"Ah, dear friend," Caderousse said, "are wills ever made without additions and changes? But you came here to eat breakfast, didn’t you? Well then, sit down and let’s start with these sardines and this fresh butter. I even put them on vine leaves just to please you, you ungrateful brat. Yes, yes, I see you looking around my room at my four straw chairs and my cheap pictures. What do you expect? This isn’t some luxury hotel."

"So you’re becoming dissatisfied now? You’re no longer happy? You, who only wanted to live like a retired baker?"

Caderousse sighed. "Well, what can I say? It still feels like a dream. A retired baker, my poor Benedetto, is supposed to be rich. He’s supposed to have a steady income."

"But you do have a steady income."

"Yes, since I bring you your two hundred francs every month."

Caderousse shrugged his shoulders. "It’s humiliating," he said, "to receive money given so grudgingly, an uncertain supply that could stop at any moment. You see, I’m forced to save money in case your prosperity ends. Fortune is fickle, as the regiment chaplain used to say. I know you’re doing very well, you rascal. You’re going to marry the daughter of Danglars, aren’t you?"

"Yes, of course. Should I call him Baron Danglars? I might as well call you Count Benedetto. He was an old friend of mine, and if he didn’t have such a bad memory, he ought to invite me to your wedding, seeing as he came to mine. Yes, to mine! Back then he wasn’t so proud. He was just a clerk working for the good Monsieur Morrel. I’ve dined with him and the Count of Morcerf many times, so you see, I have some high-class connections. If I cultivated them a bit, we might even meet in the same drawing rooms."

"Oh, please. Your jealousy makes you see everything wrong."

"That’s all very well, Benedetto, but I know what I’m talking about. Perhaps one day I’ll put on my best coat and present myself at the grand gate to introduce myself properly. But for now, let’s sit down and eat."

Caderousse set the example and attacked the breakfast with a healthy appetite, praising each dish he placed before his visitor. Andrea seemed to have resigned himself to the situation. He opened the wine bottles and ate generous portions of the fish with garlic and olive oil.

"Ah, friend," Caderousse said, "you’re getting along better with your old landlord now!"

"I suppose so," Andrea replied, his hunger overcoming every other feeling.

"So you like it, do you?"

"So much that I’m wondering how a man who can cook can complain about hard times."

"You see," Caderousse said, "all my happiness is spoiled by one thought."

"That I’m dependent on someone else, when I’ve always earned my own living honestly."

"Don’t let that bother you. I have enough for both of us."

"No, truly, you can believe me if you want. At the end of every month, I’m tormented by guilt."

"Good old Caderousse!"

"So much so that yesterday I almost didn’t take the two hundred francs."

"Yes, you said you wanted to talk to me. But was it really guilt? Tell me the truth."

"True guilt, yes. And besides, I had an idea." ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novelFirｅ.net

Andrea shuddered. He always did when Caderousse had ideas.

"It’s terrible, you see, always having to wait until the end of the month."

"Oh," Andrea said philosophically, determined to watch his companion carefully, "doesn’t all of life pass in waiting? Do I fare any better? I wait patiently, don’t I?"

"Yes, but you’re waiting for five or six thousand, maybe ten thousand, maybe even twelve thousand. You’re careful not to let anyone know the exact amount. You always had little gifts and bonuses that you tried to hide from your poor friend Caderousse. Fortunately, that friend Caderousse is a clever fellow."

"There you go again, rambling about the past! What’s the point of bringing all that up again?"

"Ah, you’re only twenty-one and can forget the past. I’m fifty and forced to remember it. But let’s get back to business."

"I was going to say, if I were in your position..."

"How would I do that?"

"I’d ask for six months’ allowance in advance, claiming I needed it to buy a farm. Then with my six months’ worth of money, I’d disappear."

"Well," Andrea said, "that’s not a bad idea."

"My dear friend," Caderousse said, "eat my bread and take my advice. You’ll be better off for it, both physically and morally."

"But," Andrea said, "why don’t you follow your own advice? Why don’t you get six months or even a year’s advance and move to Brussels? Instead of living like a retired baker, you could live like a bankrupt enjoying his freedom. That would be pretty good."

"But how the devil do you expect me to retire on twelve hundred francs?"

"Ah, Caderousse," Andrea said, "how greedy you are! Two months ago you were starving."

"Appetite grows with eating," Caderousse said, grinning and showing his teeth like a monkey laughing or a tiger snarling. "And," he added, biting off an enormous chunk of bread with his large white teeth, "I’ve come up with a plan."

Caderousse’s plans alarmed Andrea even more than his ideas. Ideas were just seeds, but plans were reality.

"Let me hear your plan. I’m sure it’s a brilliant one."

"Why not? Who came up with the plan that got us out of that establishment? It was me, wasn’t it? And it was a good one, I’d say, since here we are!"

"I’m not saying," Andrea replied, "that you never make good plans. But let’s hear this one."

"Well," Caderousse continued, "can you, without spending a single cent, help me get fifteen thousand francs? No, fifteen thousand isn’t enough. I can’t become an honest man again with less than thirty thousand."

"No," Andrea said dryly. "No, I can’t."

"I don’t think you understand me," Caderousse replied calmly. "I said without you spending anything."

"Do you want me to commit a robbery? To ruin all my good fortune, and yours along with it, and have us both dragged back to that place?"

"It wouldn’t make much difference to me," Caderousse said. "If I were caught again, so be it. I’m a poor creature living alone. Sometimes I miss my old companions. Not like you, heartless creature, who would be happy never to see them again."

Andrea did more than tremble this time. He turned pale.

"Come on, Caderousse, stop this nonsense!" he said.

"Don’t worry, my little Benedetto. Just point out some way for me to get those thirty thousand francs without your help, and I’ll manage it myself."

"Fine, I’ll think about it. I’ll try to figure something out," Andrea said.

"Meanwhile, you’ll raise my monthly payment to five hundred francs, won’t you? I have a fancy to hire a housekeeper."

"Fine, you’ll get your five hundred francs," Andrea said, "but this is very hard on me, poor Caderousse. You’re taking advantage..."

"Bah," Caderousse said, "when you have access to endless supplies of money."

Andrea’s eyes flashed like lightning, but only for a moment.

"True," he replied. "And my benefactor is very generous."

"That dear benefactor," Caderousse said. "How much does he give you monthly?"

"Five thousand francs."

"As many thousands as you give me hundreds! Truly, only illegitimate children are so fortunate. Five thousand francs per month! What the devil can you do with all that?"

"Oh, it’s easy enough to spend. And I’m like you. I need capital."

"Capital, yes. I understand. Everyone wants capital."

"Who will give it to you? Your prince?"

"Yes, my prince. But unfortunately, I have to wait."

"Wait for what?" Caderousse asked.

"Your prince’s death?"

"Because he’s made a will in my favor."

"Five hundred thousand."

"Only that? It’s not much."

"But that’s what it is."

"Are you my friend, Caderousse?"

"Yes, in life or death."

"Then I’ll tell you a secret."

"Ah! Silent as a fish."

"Well, I think..." Andrea stopped and looked around.

"You think what? Don’t worry, we’re alone."

"I think I’ve discovered who my father is."

"Not old Cavalcanti?"

"No, he’s gone again. My real father, as you say."

"And this father is..."

"Well, Caderousse, it’s Monte Cristo."