Chapter 207: Chapter 207

"Father Busoni!" Caderousse exclaimed. Not knowing how this strange apparition could have entered when he’d bolted the doors, he dropped his keys and stood motionless and stupefied.

The count positioned himself between Caderousse and the window, cutting off the thief’s only escape route.

"Father Busoni!" Caderousse repeated, fixing his haggard gaze on the count.

"Yes, undoubtedly, Father Busoni himself," Monte Cristo replied. "And I’m very glad you recognize me, dear Mr. Caderousse. It proves you have a good memory, since it must be about ten years since we last met."

This calmness from Busoni, combined with his irony and boldness, staggered Caderousse.

"Father, father!" he murmured, clenching his fists, his teeth chattering.

"So you would rob the Count of Monte Cristo?" the false priest continued.

"Reverend father," Caderousse murmured, trying to reach the window that the count pitilessly blocked. "Reverend father, I don’t know... believe me... I swear..."

"A pane cut out," the count continued, "a dark lantern, a bunch of false keys, a desk half forced. It’s quite evident..."

Caderousse was choking. He looked around for some corner to hide in, some way to escape.

"Come now," the count continued. "I see you’re still the same. An assassin."

"Reverend father, since you know everything, you know it wasn’t me. It was La Carconte. That was proven at the trial, since I was only sentenced to the galleys."

"Is your sentence expired then, since I find you well on your way to returning there?"

"No, reverend father. Someone freed me."

"That someone did society a great favor."

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

"And you’re breaking your promise!" Monte Cristo interrupted.

"Alas, yes!" Caderousse said very uneasily.

"A bad relapse that will lead you, if I’m not mistaken, to the guillotine. So much the worse. As they say in my country, so much the worse."

"Reverend father, circumstances forced me..."

"Every criminal says the same thing."

"Nonsense!" Busoni said disdainfully. "Poverty might make a man beg, steal a loaf of bread from a baker’s door, but not break into a desk in an inhabited house. And when the jeweler Johannes had just paid you 45,000 francs for the diamond I gave you, and you killed him to get both the diamond and the money back, was that also poverty?"

"Forgive me, reverend father," Caderousse said. "You saved my life once. Save me again!"

"That’s poor encouragement."

"Are you alone, reverend father, or do you have soldiers ready to seize me?"

"I’m alone," the priest said, "and I’ll have pity on you again. I’ll let you escape, at the risk of fresh miseries my weakness may cause, if you tell me the truth."

"Ah, reverend father," Caderousse cried, clasping his hands and drawing nearer to Monte Cristo. "I can truly say you’re my savior!"

"You mean you’ve been freed from prison?"

"Yes, that’s true, reverend father."

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"I know him. I’ll know if you’re lying."

"Ah, reverend father, I’m telling you the simple truth."

"Was this Englishman protecting you?"

"No, not me, but a young man from Corsica, my companion."

"What was this young man’s name?"

"Is that his first name?"

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

"So this young man escaped with you?"

"We were working at Saint-Mandrier, near Toulon. Do you know Saint-Mandrier?"

"During the rest period, between noon and one o’clock..."

"Galley slaves taking a nap after lunch! We should pity the poor fellows!" the priest said.

"Well," Caderousse said, "one can’t always work. One isn’t a dog."

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

"While the others slept, we went a short distance away. We cut through our chains with a file the Englishman had given us and swam away."

"And what became of this Benedetto?"

"No, truly. We parted at Hyères."

To give more weight to his claim, Caderousse took another step toward the priest, who remained motionless and calm, continuing his interrogation.

"You’re lying," the priest said with irresistible authority.

"You’re lying! This man is still your friend, and you perhaps use him as your accomplice."

"Oh, reverend father!"

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

"On whatever I could get."

"You’re lying," the priest repeated a third time, even more imperatively.

Terrified, Caderousse looked at the count.

"You’ve lived on money he’s given you."

"True," Caderousse admitted. "Benedetto has become the son of a great lord."

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

"An illegitimate son."

"And what is this great lord’s name?"

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

"Benedetto is the count’s son?" Monte Cristo replied, genuinely astonished.

"Well, I should think so, since the count found him a fake father. Since the count gives him four thousand francs a month and is leaving him 500,000 francs in his will."

"Ah, yes," the fake priest said, beginning to understand. "And what name does the young man use meanwhile?"

"Is it that young man my friend the Count of Monte Cristo received into his house? The one who’s going to marry Miss Danglars?"

"And you allow that, you wretch? You, who know his life and crimes?"

"Why should I stand in a friend’s way?" Caderousse said.

"You’re right. It’s not you who should warn Mr. Danglars. It’s me."

"Don’t do it, reverend father."

"Because you’d bring ruin on us both."

"And you think that to save villains like you, I’ll become an accomplice to your plot? A partner in your crimes?"

"Reverend father," Caderousse said, drawing even nearer.

"I’ll expose everything."

"By heaven!" Caderousse cried. He drew an open knife from his waistcoat and struck at the count’s chest. "You’ll reveal nothing, reverend father!"

To Caderousse’s great astonishment, the knife flew back blunted instead of piercing the count’s chest. At the same moment, the count seized the assassin’s wrist with his left hand and twisted it with such strength that the knife fell from Caderousse’s stiffened fingers. Caderousse cried out in pain.

But the count, ignoring his cry, continued twisting the bandit’s wrist until his arm dislocated. Caderousse fell first to his knees, then flat on the floor. The count then placed his foot on his head.

"I don’t know what keeps me from crushing your skull, you scoundrel."

"Ah, mercy! Mercy!" Caderousse cried.

The count removed his foot.

"What a grip you have, reverend father!" Caderousse said, stroking his bruised arm. "What a grip!"

"Silence! God gives me strength to overcome a wild beast like you. In the name of that God I act. Remember that, wretch. And sparing you at this moment is still serving Him."

"Oh!" Caderousse groaned in pain.

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

"I don’t know how to write, reverend father."

"You’re lying! Take this pen and write!"

Awed by the priest’s superior power, Caderousse sat down and wrote:

Sir, the man you’re receiving in your house, to whom you intend to marry your daughter, is a criminal who escaped with me from prison in Toulon. He was Number 59, and I was Number 58. He was called Benedetto, but he doesn’t know his real name, having never known his parents.

"Sign it!" the count continued.

"But would you ruin me?"

"If I wanted your ruin, fool, I’d drag you to the nearest police station. Besides, when this note is delivered, you’ll probably have nothing more to fear. Sign it!"

Caderousse signed it.

"The address: ’To Mr. Baron Danglars, banker, Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin.’"

Caderousse wrote the address. The priest took the note.

"Now," he said, "that’s enough. Leave!"

"You want me to climb out that window?"

"You got in easily enough."

"Oh, you have some plan against me, reverend father."

"Idiot! What plan could I have?"

"Then why not let me out through the door?"

"Why wake the porter?"

"Ah, reverend father, tell me, do you want me dead?"

"I want what God wants."

"But swear you won’t strike me as I climb down."

"What do you intend to do with me?"

"What can I do? I tried to make you a happy man, and you turned out to be a murderer."

"Oh, sir," Caderousse said, "make one more attempt. Try me once more!"

"I will," the count said. "Listen. You know I can be trusted."

"Yes," Caderousse said.

"If you arrive home safely..."

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

"If you reach home safely, leave Paris. Leave France. Wherever you go, as long as you behave well, I’ll send you a small annuity. Because if you return home safely, then..."

"Then?" Caderousse asked, shuddering.

"Then I’ll believe God has forgiven you, and I’ll forgive you too."

"As true as I’m a Christian," Caderousse stammered, "you’ll make me die of fright!"

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

Caderousse, barely trusting this promise, put his legs out the window and stood on the ladder.

"Now climb down," the priest said, folding his arms.

Understanding he had nothing more to fear from the priest, Caderousse began descending. Then the count brought the candle to the window so it could be seen on the Champs-Élysées that a man was climbing out while another held a light.

"What are you doing, reverend father? What if a watchman passes?"

Caderousse blew out the light. Then he descended. Only when his foot touched the ground was he satisfied of his safety.

Monte Cristo returned to his bedroom. Glancing rapidly from the garden to the street, he saw Caderousse first. After walking to the garden’s end, Caderousse fixed his ladder against the wall at a different spot from where he’d entered.

Looking down into the street, the count saw the man who’d been waiting run in the same direction and position himself against the wall angle where Caderousse would come over.

Caderousse climbed the ladder slowly and looked over the top to see if the street was quiet. No one could be seen or heard. The clock struck one.

Then Caderousse straddled the wall top. Drawing up his ladder, he passed it over the wall, then began descending, or rather sliding down, by the two rails with an ease that proved how practiced he was. But once started, he couldn’t stop.

In vain did he see a man emerge from the shadows when he was halfway down. In vain did he see an arm raised as he touched the ground. Before he could defend himself, that arm struck him violently in the back. He let go of the ladder, crying, "Help!"

A second blow struck him almost immediately in the side, and he fell, calling, "Help! Murder!"

Then, as he rolled on the ground, his attacker seized him by the hair and struck a third blow in his chest. This time Caderousse tried to call again, but he could only utter a groan. He shuddered as blood flowed from his three wounds.

The assassin, finding that Caderousse no longer cried out, lifted his head by the hair. His eyes were closed and his mouth distorted. The murderer, assuming him dead, dropped his head and disappeared.

Then Caderousse, feeling his attacker leaving, raised himself on his elbow. With a dying voice, he cried with great effort, "Murder! I’m dying! Help, reverend father! Help!"

This mournful appeal pierced the darkness. The door of the back staircase opened, then the garden’s side gate. Ali and his master appeared on the scene with lights.