"Father Busoni!" Caderousse exclaid. 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 , dear Mr. Caderousse. It proves you have a good mory, since it must be about ten years since we last t."
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 ... 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 so corner to hide in, so way to escape.
"Co now," the count continued. "I see you’re still the sa. An assassin."
"Reverend father, since you know everything, you know it wasn’t . 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. Soone freed ."
"That soone 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 ..."
"Every criminal says the sa thing."
"Poverty..."
"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 , reverend father," Caderousse said. "You saved my life once. Save again!"
"That’s poor encouragent."
"Are you alone, reverend father, or do you have soldiers ready to seize ?"
"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 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 an you’ve been freed from prison?"
"Yes, that’s true, reverend father."
"Who freed you?"
"An Englishman."
"What was his na?"
"Lord Wilmore."
"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 , but a young man from Corsica, my companion."
"What was this young man’s na?"
"Benedetto."
"Is that his first na?"
"He had no other. He was a foundling."
"So this young man escaped with you?"
"He did."
"How?"
"We were working at Saint-Mandrier, near Toulon. Do you know Saint-Mandrier?"
"I do."
"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 beca of this Benedetto?"
"I don’t know."
"You should know."
"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.
"Reverend father!"
"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 !"
"On whatever I could get."
"You’re lying," the priest repeated a third ti, even more imperatively.
Terrified, Caderousse looked at the count.
"You’ve lived on money he’s given you."
"True," Caderousse admitted. "Benedetto has beco 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 na?"
"The Count of Monte Cristo, the very sa 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 na does the young man use anwhile?"
"Andrea Cavalcanti."
"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?"
"Exactly."
"And you allow that, you wretch? You, who know his life and cris?"
"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 ."
"Don’t do it, reverend father."
"Why not?"
"Because you’d bring ruin on us both."
"And you think that to save villains like you, I’ll beco an accomplice to your plot? A partner in your cris?"
"Reverend father," Caderousse said, drawing even nearer.
"I’ll expose everything."
"To whom?"
"To Mr. Danglars."
"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 astonishnt, the knife flew back blunted instead of piercing the count’s chest. At the sa mont, 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 from crushing your skull, you scoundrel."
"Ah, rcy! rcy!" Caderousse cried.
The count removed his foot.
"Get up!" he said.
Caderousse rose.
"What a grip you have, reverend father!" Caderousse said, stroking his bruised arm. "What a grip!"
"Silence! God gives strength to overco a wild beast like you. In the na of that God I act. Rember that, wretch. And sparing you at this mont 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 from prison in Toulon. He was Number 59, and I was Number 58. He was called Benedetto, but he doesn’t know his real na, having never known his parents.
"Sign it!" the count continued.
"But would you ruin ?"
"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!"
"Which way?"
"The way you ca."
"You want to climb out that window?"
"You got in easily enough."
"Oh, you have so plan against , reverend father."
"Idiot! What plan could I have?"
"Then why not let out through the door?"
"Why wake the porter?"
"Ah, reverend father, tell , do you want dead?"
"I want what God wants."
"But swear you won’t strike as I climb down."
"Cowardly fool!"
"What do you intend to do with ?"
"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 once more!"
"I will," the count said. "Listen. You know I can be trusted."
"Yes," Caderousse said.
"If you arrive ho safely..."
"What do I have to fear, except from you?"
"If you reach ho 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 ho 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 stamred, "you’ll make 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 sa direction and position himself against the wall angle where Caderousse would co 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 erge 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 imdiately 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 ti 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.
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