SUCH OF MY readers as have made a pedestrian excursion to the south of France may perchance have noticed, about midway between the town of Beaucaire and the village of Bellegarde,--a little nearer to the former than to the latter,--a small roadside inn, from the front of which hung, creaking and flapping in the wind, a sheet of tin covered with a grotesque representation of the Pont du Gard. This modern place of entertainment stood on the left-hand side of the post road, and backed upon the Rhone. It also boasted of what in Languedoc is styled a garden, consisting of a small plot of ground, on the side opposite to the main entrance reserved for the reception of guests. A few dingy olives and stunted fig-trees struggled hard for existence, but their withered dusty foliage abundantly proved how unequal was the conflict. Between these sickly shrubs grew a scanty supply of garlic, tomatoes, and eschalots; while, lone and solitary, like a forgotten sentinel, a tall pine raised its melancholy head in one of the corners of this unattractive spot, and displayed its flexible stem and fan-shaped summit dried and cracked by the fierce heat of the sub-tropical sun.

In the surrounding plain, which more resembled a dusty lake than solid ground, were scattered a few miserable stalks of wheat, the effect, no doubt, of a curious desire on the part of the agriculturists of the country to see whether such a thing as the raising of grain in those parched regions was practicable. Each stalk served as a perch for a grasshopper, which regaled the passers by through this Egyptian scene with its strident, monotonous note.

For about seven or eight years the little tavern had been kept by a man and his wife, with two servants,--a chambermaid named Trinette, and a hostler called Pecaud. This small staff was quite equal to all the requirements, for a canal between Beaucaire and Aiguemortes had revolutionized transportation by substituting boats for the cart and the stagecoach. And, as though to add to the daily misery which this prosperous canal inflicted on the unfortunate inn-keeper, whose utter ruin it was fast accomplishing, it was situated between the Rhone from which it had its source and the post-road it had depleted, not a hundred steps from the inn, of which we have given a brief but faithful description.

The inn-keeper himself was a man of from forty to fifty-five years of age, tall, strong, and bony, a perfect specimen of the natives of those southern latitudes; he had dark, sparkling, and deep-set eyes, hooked nose, and teeth white as those of a carnivorous animal; his hair, like his beard, which he wore under his chin, was thick and curly, and in spite of his age but slightly interspersed with a few silvery threads. His naturally dark complexion had assumed a still further shade of brown from the habit the unfortunate man had acquired of stationing himself from morning till eve at the threshold of his door, on the lookout for guests who seldom came, yet there he stood, day after day, exposed to the meridional rays of a burning sun, with no other protection for his head than a red handkerchief twisted around it, after the manner of the Spanish muleteers. This man was our old acquaintance, Gaspard Caderousse. His wife, on the contrary, whose maiden name had been Madeleine Radelle, was pale, meagre, and sickly-looking. Born in the neighborhood of Arles, she had shared in the beauty for which its women are proverbial; but that beauty had gradually withered beneath the devastating influence of the slow fever so prevalent among dwellers by the ponds of Aiguemortes and the marshes of Camargue. She remained nearly always in her second-floor chamber, shivering in her chair, or stretched languid and feeble on her bed, while her husband kept his daily watch at the door--a duty he performed with so much the greater willingness, as it saved him the necessity of listening to the endless plaints and murmurs of his helpmate, who never saw him without breaking out into bitter invectives against fate; to all of which her husband would calmly return an unvarying reply, in these philosophic words:--

"Hush, La Carconte. It is God's pleasure that things should be so."

The sobriquet of La Carconte had been bestowed on Madeleine Radelle from the fact that she had been born in a village, so called, situated between Salon and Lambesc; and as a custom existed among the inhabitants of that part of France where Caderousse lived of styling every person by some particular and distinctive appellation, her husband had bestowed on her the name of La Carconte in place of her sweet and euphonious name of Madeleine, which, in all probability, his rude gutteral language would not have enabled him to pronounce. Still, let it not be supposed that amid this affected resignation to the will of Providence, the unfortunate inn-keeper did not writhe under the double misery of seeing the hateful canal carry off his customers and his profits, and the daily infliction of his peevish partner's murmurs and lamentations.

Like other dwellers in the south, he was a man of sober habits and moderate desires, but fond of external show, vain, and addicted to display. During the days of his prosperity, not a festivity took place without himself and wife being among the spectators. He dressed in the picturesque costume worn upon grand occasions by the inhabitants of the south of France, bearing equal resemblance to the style adopted both by the Catalans and Andalusians; while La Carconte displayed the charming fashion prevalent among the women of Arles, a mode of attire borrowed equally from Greece and Arabia. But, by degrees, watch-chains, necklaces, parti-colored scarfs, embroidered bodices, velvet vests, elegantly worked stockings, striped gaiters, and silver buckles for the shoes, all disappeared; and Gaspard Caderousse, unable to appear abroad in his pristine splendor, had given up any further participation in the pomps and vanities, both for himself and wife, although a bitter feeling of envious discontent filled his mind as the sound of mirth and merry music from the joyous revellers reached even the miserable hostelry to which he still clung, more for the shelter than the profit it afforded.

Caderousse, then, was, as usual, at his place of observation before the door, his eyes glancing listlessly from a piece of closely shaven grass--on which some fowls were industriously, though fruitlessly, endeavoring to turn up some grain or insect suited to their palate--to the deserted road, which led away to the north and south, when he was aroused by the shrill voice of his wife, and grumbling to himself as he went, he mounted to her chamber, first taking care, however, to set the entrance door wide open, as an invitation to any chance traveller who might be passing.

At the moment Caderousse quitted his sentry-like watch before the door, the road on which he so eagerly strained his sight was void and lonely as a desert at mid-day. There it lay stretching out into one interminable line of dust and sand, with its sides bordered by tall, meagre trees, altogether presenting so uninviting an appearance, that no one in his senses could have imagined that any traveller, at liberty to regulate his hours for journeying, would choose to expose himself in such a formidable Sahara. Nevertheless, had Caderousse but retained his post a few minutes longer, he might have caught a dim outline of something approaching from the direction of Bellegarde; as the moving object drew nearer, he would easily have perceived that it consisted of a man and horse, between whom the kindest and most amiable understanding appeared to exist. The horse was of Hungarian breed, and ambled along at an easy pace. His rider was a priest, dressed in black, and wearing a three-cornered hat; and, spite of the ardent rays of a noonday sun, the pair came on with a fair degree of rapidity.

Having arrived before the Pont du Gard, the horse stopped, but whether for his own pleasure or that of his rider would have been difficult to say. However that might have been, the priest, dismounting, led his steed by the bridle in search of some place to which he could secure him. Availing himself of a handle that projected from a half-fallen door, he tied the animal safely and having drawn a red cotton handkerchief, from his pocket, wiped away the perspiration that streamed from his brow, then, advancing to the door, struck thrice with the end of his iron-shod stick. At this unusual sound, a huge black dog came rushing to meet the daring assailant of his ordinarily tranquil abode, snarling and displaying his sharp white teeth with a determined hostility that abundantly proved how little he was accustomed to society. At that moment a heavy footstep was heard descending the wooden staircase that led from the upper floor, and, with many bows and courteous smiles, mine host of the Pont du Gard besought his guest to enter.

"You are welcome, sir, most welcome!" repeated the astonished Caderousse. "Now, then, Margotin," cried he, speaking to the dog, "will you be quiet? Pray don't heed him, sir!--he only barks, he never bites. I make no doubt a glass of good wine would be acceptable this dreadfully hot day." Then perceiving for the first time the garb of the traveller he had to entertain, Caderousse hastily exclaimed: "A thousand pardons! I really did not observe whom I had the honor to receive under my poor roof. What would the abbé please to have? What refreshment can I offer? All I have is at his service."

The priest gazed on the person addressing him with a long and searching gaze--there even seemed a disposition on his part to court a similar scrutiny on the part of the inn-keeper; then, observing in the countenance of the latter no other expression than extreme surprise at his own want of attention to an inquiry so courteously worded, he deemed it as well to terminate this dumb show, and therefore said, speaking with a strong Italian accent, "You are, I presume, M. Caderousse?"

"Yes, sir," answered the host, even more surprised at the question than he had been by the silence which had preceded it; "I am Gaspard Caderousse, at your service."

"Gaspard Caderousse," rejoined the priest. "Yes,--Christian and surname are the same. You formerly lived, I believe in the Allées de Meillan, on the fourth floor?"

"I did."

"And you followed the business of a tailor?"

"True, I was a tailor, till the trade fell off. It is so hot at Marseilles, that really I believe that the respectable inhabitants will in time go without any clothing whatever. But talking of heat, is there nothing I can offer you by way of refreshment?"

"Yes; let me have a bottle of your best wine, and then, with your permission, we will resume our conversation from where we left off."

"As you please, sir," said Caderousse, who, anxious not to lose the present opportunity of finding a customer for one of the few bottles of Cahors still remaining in his possession, hastily raised a trap-door in the floor of the apartment they were in, which served both as parlor and kitchen. Upon issuing forth from his subterranean retreat at the expiration of five minutes, he found the abbé seated upon a wooden stool, leaning his elbow on a table, while Margotin, whose animosity seemed appeased by the unusual command of the traveller for refreshments, had crept up to him, and had established himself very comfortably between his knees, his long, skinny neck resting on his lap, while his dim eye was fixed earnestly on the traveller's face.

"Are you quite alone?" inquired the guest, as Caderousse placed before him the bottle of wine and a glass.

"Quite, quite alone," replied the man--"or, at least, practically so, for my poor wife, who is the only person in the house besides myself, is laid up with illness, and unable to render me the least assistance, poor thing!"

"You are married, then?" said the priest, with a show of interest, glancing round as he spoke at the scanty furnishings of the apartment.

"Ah, sir," said Caderousse with a sigh, "it is easy to perceive I am not a rich man; but in this world a man does not thrive the better for being honest." The abbé fixed on him a searching, penetrating glance.

"Yes, honest--I can certainly say that much for myself," continued the inn-keeper, fairly sustaining the scrutiny of the abbé's gaze; "I can boast with truth of being an honest man; and," continued he significantly, with a hand on his breast and shaking his head, "that is more than every one can say nowadays."

"So much the better for you, if what you assert be true," said the abbé; "for I am firmly persuaded that, sooner or later, the good will be rewarded, and the wicked punished."

"Such words as those belong to your profession," answered Caderousse, "and you do well to repeat them; but," added he, with a bitter expression of countenance, "one is free to believe them or not, as one pleases."

"You are wrong to speak thus," said the abbé; "and perhaps I may, in my own person, be able to prove to you how completely you are in error."

"What mean you?" inquired Caderousse with a look of surprise.

"In the first place, I must be satisfied that you are the person I am in search of."

"What proofs do you require?"

"Did you, in the year 1814 or 1815, know anything of a young sailor named Dantès?"

"Dantès? Did I know poor dear Edmond? Why, Edmond Dantès and myself were intimate friends!" exclaimed Caderousse, whose countenance flushed darkly as he caught the penetrating gaze of the abbé fixed on him, while the clear, calm eye of the questioner seemed to dilate with feverish scrutiny.

"You remind me," said the priest, "that the young man concerning whom I asked you was said to bear the name of Edmond."

"Said to bear the name!" repeated Caderousse, becoming excited and eager. "Why, he was so called as truly as I myself bore the appellation of Gaspard Caderousse; but tell me, I pray, what has become of poor Edmond? Did you know him? Is he alive and at liberty? Is he prosperous and happy?"

"He died a more wretched, hopeless, heart-broken prisoner than the felons who pay the penalty of their crimes at the galleys of Toulon."

A deadly pallor followed the flush on the countenance of Caderousse, who turned away, and the priest saw him wiping the tears from his eyes with the corner of the red handkerchief twisted round his head.

"Poor fellow, poor fellow!" murmured Caderousse. "Well, there, sir, is another proof that good people are never rewarded on this earth, and that none but the wicked prosper. Ah," continued Caderousse, speaking in the highly colored language of the south, "the world grows worse and worse. Why does not God, if he really hates the wicked, as he is said to do, send down brimstone and fire, and consume them altogether?"

"You speak as though you had loved this young Dantès," observed the abbé, without taking any notice of his companion's vehemence.

"And so I did," replied Caderousse; "though once, I confess, I envied him his good fortune. But I swear to you, sir, I swear to you, by everything a man holds dear, I have, since then, deeply and sincerely lamented his unhappy fate." There was a brief silence, during which the fixed, searching eye of the abbé was employed in scrutinizing the agitated features of the inn-keeper.

"You knew the poor lad, then?" continued Caderousse.

"I was called to see him on his dying bed, that I might administer to him the consolations of religion."

"And of what did he die?" asked Caderousse in a choking voice.

"Of what, think you, do young and strong men die in prison, when they have scarcely numbered their thirtieth year, unless it be of imprisonment?" Caderousse wiped away the large beads of perspiration that gathered on his brow.

"But the strangest part of the story is," resumed the abbé, "that Dantès, even in his dying moments, swore by his crucified Redeemer, that he was utterly ignorant of the cause of his detention."

"And so he was," murmured Caderousse. "How should he have been otherwise? Ah, sir, the poor fellow told you the truth."

"And for that reason, he besought me to try and clear up a mystery he had never been able to penetrate, and to clear his memory should any foul spot or stain have fallen on it."

And here the look of the abbé, becoming more and more fixed, seemed to rest with ill-concealed satisfaction on the gloomy depression which was rapidly spreading over the countenance of Caderousse.

"A rich Englishman," continued the abbé, "who had been his companion in misfortune, but had been released from prison during the second restoration, was possessed of a diamond of immense value; this jewel he bestowed on Dantès upon himself quitting the prison, as a mark of his gratitude for the kindness and brotherly care with which Dantès had nursed him in a severe illness he underwent during his confinement. Instead of employing this diamond in attempting to bribe his jailers, who might only have taken it and then betrayed him to the governor, Dantès carefully preserved it, that in the event of his getting out of prison he might have wherewithal to live, for the sale of such a diamond would have quite sufficed to make his fortune."

"Then, I suppose," asked Caderousse, with eager, glowing looks, "that it was a stone of immense value?"

"Why, everything is relative," answered the abbé. "To one in Edmond's position the diamond certainly was of great value. It was estimated at fifty thousand francs."

"Bless me!" exclaimed Caderousse, "fifty thousand francs! Surely the diamond was as large as a nut to be worth all that."

"No," replied the abbé, "it was not of such a size as that; but you shall judge for yourself. I have it with me."

The sharp gaze of Caderousse was instantly directed towards the priest's garments, as though hoping to discover the location of the treasure. Calmly drawing forth from his pocket a small box covered with black shagreen, the abbé opened it, and displayed to the dazzled eyes of Caderousse the sparkling jewel it contained, set in a ring of admirable workmanship. "And that diamond," cried Caderousse, almost breathless with eager admiration, "you say, is worth fifty thousand francs?"

"It is, without the setting, which is also valuable," replied the abbé, as he closed the box, and returned it to his pocket, while its brilliant hues seemed still to dance before the eyes of the fascinated inn-keeper.

"But how comes the diamond in your possession, sir? Did Edmond make you his heir?"

"No, merely his testamentary executor. 'I once possessed four dear and faithful friends, besides the maiden to whom I was betrothed' he said; 'and I feel convinced they have all unfeignedly grieved over my loss. The name of one of the four friends is Caderousse.'" The inn-keeper shivered.

"'Another of the number,'" continued the abbé, without seeming to notice the emotion of Caderousse, "'is called Danglars; and the third, in spite of being my rival, entertained a very sincere affection for me.'" A fiendish smile played over the features of Caderousse, who was about to break in upon the abbé's speech, when the latter, waving his hand, said, "Allow me to finish first, and then if you have any observations to make, you can do so afterwards. 'The third of my friends, although my rival, was much attached to me,--his name was Fernand; that of my betrothed was'--Stay, stay," continued the abbé, "I have forgotten what he called her."

"Mercédès," said Caderousse eagerly.

"True," said the abbé, with a stifled sigh, "Mercédès it was."

"Go on," urged Caderousse.

"Bring me a carafe of water," said the abbé.

Caderousse quickly performed the stranger's bidding; and after pouring some into a glass, and slowly swallowing its contents, the abbé, resuming his usual placidity of manner, said, as he placed his empty glass on the table,--"Where did we leave off?"

"The name of Edmond's betrothed was Mercédès."

"To be sure. 'You will go to Marseilles,' said Dantès,--for you understand, I repeat his words just as he uttered them. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly."

"'You will sell this diamond; you will divide the money into five equal parts, and give an equal portion to these good friends, the only persons who have loved me upon earth.'"

"But why into five parts?" asked Caderousse; "you only mentioned four persons."

"Because the fifth is dead, as I hear. The fifth sharer in Edmond's bequest, was his own father."

"Too true, too true!" ejaculated Caderousse, almost suffocated by the contending passions which assailed him, "the poor old man did die."

"I learned so much at Marseilles," replied the abbé, making a strong effort to appear indifferent; "but from the length of time that has elapsed since the death of the elder Dantès, I was unable to obtain any particulars of his end. Can you enlighten me on that point?"

"I do not know who could if I could not," said Caderousse. "Why, I lived almost on the same floor with the poor old man. Ah, yes, about a year after the disappearance of his son the poor old man died."

"Of what did he die?"

"Why, the doctors called his complaint gastro-enteritis, I believe; his acquaintances say he died of grief; but I, who saw him in his dying moments, I say he died of"--Caderousse paused.

"Of what?" asked the priest, anxiously and eagerly.

"Why, of downright starvation."

"Starvation!" exclaimed the abbé, springing from his seat. "Why, the vilest animals are not suffered to die by such a death as that. The very dogs that wander houseless and homeless in the streets find some pitying hand to cast them a mouthful of bread; and that a man, a Christian, should be allowed to perish of hunger in the midst of other men who call themselves Christians, is too horrible for belief. Oh, it is impossible--utterly impossible!"

"What I have said, I have said," answered Caderousse.

"And you are a fool for having said anything about it," said a voice from the top of the stairs. "Why should you meddle with what does not concern you?"

The two men turned quickly, and saw the sickly countenance of La Carconte peering between the baluster rails; attracted by the sound of voices, she had feebly dragged herself down the stairs, and, seated on the lower step, head on knees, she had listened to the foregoing conversation. "Mind your own business, wife," replied Caderousse sharply. "This gentleman asks me for information, which common politeness will not permit me to refuse."

"Politeness, you simpleton!" retorted La Carconte. "What have you to do with politeness, I should like to know? Better study a little common prudence. How do you know the motives that person may have for trying to extract all he can from you?"

"I pledge you my word, madam," said the abbé, "that my intentions are good; and that you husband can incur no risk, provided he answers me candidly."

"Ah, that's all very fine," retorted the woman. "Nothing is easier than to begin with fair promises and assurances of nothing to fear; but when poor, silly folks, like my husband there, have been persuaded to tell all they know, the promises and assurances of safety are quickly forgotten; and at some moment when nobody is expecting it, behold trouble and misery, and all sorts of persecutions, are heaped on the unfortunate wretches, who cannot even see whence all their afflictions come."

"Nay, nay, my good woman, make yourself perfectly easy, I beg of you. Whatever evils may befall you, they will not be occasioned by my instrumentality, that I solemnly promise you."

La Carconte muttered a few inarticulate words, then let her head again drop upon her knees, and went into a fit of ague, leaving the two speakers to resume the conversation, but remaining so as to be able to hear every word they uttered. Again the abbé had been obliged to swallow a draught of water to calm the emotions that threatened to overpower him. When he had sufficiently recovered himself, he said, "It appears, then, that the miserable old man you were telling me of was forsaken by every one. Surely, had not such been the case, he would not have perished by so dreadful a death."

"Why, he was not altogether forsaken," continued Caderousse, "for Mercédès the Catalan and Monsieur Morrel were very kind to him; but somehow the poor old man had contracted a profound hatred for Fernand--the very person," added Caderousse with a bitter smile, "that you named just now as being one of Dantès' faithful and attached friends."

"And was he not so?" asked the abbé.

"Gaspard, Gaspard!" murmured the woman, from her seat on the stairs, "mind what you are saying!" Caderousse made no reply to these words, though evidently irritated and annoyed by the interruption, but, addressing the abbé, said, "Can a man be faithful to another whose wife he covets and desires for himself? But Dantès was so honorable and true in his own nature, that he believed everybody's professions of friendship. Poor Edmond, he was cruelly deceived; but it was fortunate that he never knew, or he might have found it more difficult, when on his deathbed, to pardon his enemies. And, whatever people may say," continued Caderousse, in his native language, which was not altogether devoid of rude poetry, "I cannot help being more frightened at the idea of the malediction of the dead than the hatred of the living."

"Imbecile!" exclaimed La Carconte.

"Do you, then, know in what manner Fernand injured Dantès?" inquired the abbé of Caderousse.

"Do I? No one better."

"Speak out then, say what it was!"

"Gaspard!" cried La Carconte, "do as you will; you are master--but if you take my advice you'll hold your tongue."

"Well, wife," replied Caderousse, "I don't know but what you're right!"

"So you will say nothing?" asked the abbé.

"Why, what good would it do?" asked Caderousse. "If the poor lad were living, and came to me and begged that I would candidly tell which were his true and which his false friends, why, perhaps, I should not hesitate. But you tell me he is no more, and therefore can have nothing to do with hatred or revenge, so let all such feeling be buried with him."

"You prefer, then," said the abbé, "that I should bestow on men you say are false and treacherous, the reward intended for faithful friendship?"

"That is true enough," returned Caderousse. "You say truly, the gift of poor Edmond was not meant for such traitors as Fernand and Danglars; besides, what would it be to them? no more than a drop of water in the ocean."

"Remember," chimed in La Carconte, "those two could crush you at a single blow!"

"How so?" inquired the abbé. "Are these persons, then, so rich and powerful?"

"Do you not know their history?"

"I do not. Pray relate it to me!" Caderousse seemed to reflect for a few moments, then said, "No, truly, it would take up too much time."

"Well, my good friend," returned the abbé, in a tone that indicated utter indifference on his part, "you are at liberty, either to speak or be silent, just as you please; for my own part, I respect your scruples and admire your sentiments; so let the matter end. I shall do my duty as conscientiously as I can, and fulfil my promise to the dying man. My first business will be to dispose of this diamond." So saying, the abbé again draw the small box from his pocket, opened it, and contrived to hold it in such a light, that a bright flash of brilliant hues passed before the dazzled gaze of Caderousse.

"Wife, wife!" cried he in a hoarse voice, "come here!"

"Diamond!" exclaimed La Carconte, rising and descending to the chamber with a tolerably firm step; "what diamond are you talking about?"

"Why, did you not hear all we said?" inquired Caderousse. "It is a beautiful diamond left by poor Edmond Dantès, to be sold, and the money divided between his father, Mercédès, his betrothed bride, Fernand, Danglars, and myself. The jewel is worth at least fifty thousand francs."

"Oh, what a magnificent jewel!" cried the astonished woman.

"The fifth part of the profits from this stone belongs to us then, does it not?" asked Caderousse.

"It does," replied the abbé; "with the addition of an equal division of that part intended for the elder Dantès, which I believe myself at liberty to divide equally with the four survivors."

"And why among us four?" inquired Caderousse.

"As being the friends Edmond esteemed most faithful and devoted to him."

"I don't call those friends who betray and ruin you," murmured the wife in her turn, in a low, muttering voice.

"Of course not!" rejoined Caderousse quickly; "no more do I, and that was what I was observing to this gentleman just now. I said I looked upon it as a sacrilegious profanation to reward treachery, perhaps crime."

"Remember," answered the abbé calmly, as he replaced the jewel and its case in the pocket of his cassock, "it is your fault, not mine, that I do so. You will have the goodness to furnish me with the address of both Fernand and Danglars, in order that I may execute Edmond's last wishes." The agitation of Caderousse became extreme, and large drops of perspiration rolled from his heated brow. As he saw the abbé rise from his seat and go towards the door, as though to ascertain if his horse were sufficiently refreshed to continue his journey, Caderousse and his wife exchanged looks of deep meaning.

"There, you see, wife," said the former, "this splendid diamond might all be ours, if we chose!"

"Do you believe it?"

"Why, surely a man of his holy profession would not deceive us!"

"Well," replied La Carconte, "do as you like. For my part, I wash my hands of the affair." So saying, she once more climbed the staircase leading to her chamber, her body convulsed with chills, and her teeth rattling in her head, in spite of the intense heat of the weather. Arrived at the top stair, she turned round, and called out, in a warning tone, to her husband, "Gaspard, consider well what you are about to do!"

"I have both reflected and decided," answered he. La Carconte then entered her chamber, the flooring of which creaked beneath her heavy, uncertain tread, as she proceeded towards her arm-chair, into which she fell as though exhausted.

"Well," asked the abbé, as he returned to the apartment below, "what have you made up your mind to do?"

"To tell you all I know," was the reply.

"I certainly think you act wisely in so doing," said the priest. "Not because I have the least desire to learn anything you may please to conceal from me, but simply that if, through your assistance, I could distribute the legacy according to the wishes of the testator, why, so much the better, that is all."

"I hope it may be so," replied Caderousse, his face flushed with cupidity.

"I am all attention," said the abbé.

"Stop a minute," answered Caderousse; "we might be interrupted in the most interesting part of my story, which would be a pity; and it is as well that your visit hither should be made known only to ourselves." With these words he went stealthily to the door, which he closed, and, by way of still greater precaution, bolted and barred it, as he was accustomed to do at night. During this time the abbé had chosen his place for listening at his ease. He removed his seat into a corner of the room, where he himself would be in deep shadow, while the light would be fully thrown on the narrator; then, with head bent down and hands clasped, or rather clinched together, he prepared to give his whole attention to Caderousse, who seated himself on the little stool, exactly opposite to him.

"Remember, this is no affair of mine," said the trembling voice of La Carconte, as though through the flooring of her chamber she viewed the scene that was enacting below.

"Enough, enough!" replied Caderousse; "say no more about it; I will take all the consequences upon myself." And he began his story.

我们的读者当中，凡是曾徒步周游过法国南部的，或许曾注意到，在布揆尔镇和比里加答村之间，有一家路边小客栈，门口挂着一块铁，在风中摆来摆去，叮咛作响，上面隐约可看出杜加桥三个字。这家小客栈，从罗纳河那个方向望去是位于路的左边，背靠着河。和小客栈相接连的，有朗格多克一带被称之为“花园的一小块地”从正对着它的杜加桥客栈的大门（旅客们就是从这里被请进来享受客栈主人的殷勤款待的）可以后到花园的全景。在这片土地上，即这个花园里，北纬三十度的灼热的阳光的猛晒之下，有几棵无精打采的橄榄树和发育不健全的无花果树，它们那萎谢的叶子上盖满了灰尘。在这些病态的矮树之间，还长着一些大蒜，蕃茄和大葱，另外还有一棵高大的松树，孤零零地，象一个被遗忘了的哨兵，伸着它那忧郁的头，盘曲的丫枝和枝头扇形的簇叶，周身被催人衰老的西北风（这是天罚）吹得枯干龟裂。

周围是一片平地，说是实地，其实是一块污浊的泥沼，上面零散地长着一些可怜的麦茎。这，无疑的是当地农艺家的好奇心所造成的结果，想看看在这些干热的地区究竟能不能种植五谷。但这些麦茎，却方便了无数的蝉娘，它们随着那些不幸的拓荒者一同来到这片荒地上，经过百拆不挠的奋斗以后，在这些发育不健全的园艺标本间定居下来，用它们那单调刺耳的叫声追逐着来到这里的。

八年来，这家小客栈一直由一对夫妇经营着，本来还有两个佣人：一个叫德蕾妮蒂；另一个叫巴卡，负责管理马厩。但这项工作实在是有名无实，因为在布揆耳和阿琪摩地之间，近来开通了一条运河，运河船代替了运货马车，马拉驳船代替了驿车。运河离这家被遗弃客栈不到一百步，关于这家客栈，我们已很简略但很忠实地描写过了，这位不幸的客栈老板本来已天天愁眉不展，快要全部破产了，现在又加上这条繁荣的运河的打击，自然更增加了他的愁苦。

客栈老板是一个年约四十多岁的人，身材高大强壮，骨胳粗大，典型的法国南部人。两眼深陷而炯炯有神，鹰钩鼻，牙齿雪白，就象一只食肉兽。虽然他已上了年纪，但他的头发，却似乎不愿变白，象他那胡须一样，茂密而卷曲，但已略微混入了几根银丝。他的肤色天生是黯黑的，加之这个可怜虫又有一个习惯，喜欢从早到晚地站在门口，眼巴巴地盼望着有一个骑马或徒步来的旅客，使他得以又一次看见客人进门时的喜悦，所以在这黑色之外，又加了一层棕褐色。而他的期待往往是失望的，但他仍旧日复一日地在那儿站着，曝晒在火一般的阳光之下，头上缠了块红手帕，象个西班牙赶骡子的人。这个人就是我们先前提到过的卡德鲁斯。他的妻子名叫码德兰·莱德儿，她却正巧和他相反，脸色苍白消瘦，面带病容。她出生在阿尔附近，那个地方素以出美女而闻名，她也虽具有当地妇女那传统的美色。但那种美丽，在阿琪摩地河与凯马琪沼泽地带附近非常流行的那种慢性寒热症的摧残之下，已逐渐减色了。她几乎总是呆在二楼上她的房间里，哆嗦着坐在椅子里，或有气无力地躺在床上，而她的丈夫则整天在门口守望着，他非常愿意干这差事，这样，他就可以躲开他老婆那没完没了的抱怨和诅咒。因为她每一看见他，就必定喋喋不休地痛骂命运，诅咒她现在这种不该受的苦境。对这些，她的丈夫总是用不变地富于哲理话平心静气地说：“别说了，卡尔贡特娘们！这些事都是上帝的安排。”

卡尔贡特娘们这个绰号的由来，是因为她出生的村庄位于萨隆和兰比克之间，那个村庄就叫这个名字。而据卡德鲁斯所住的法国那一带地方的风俗，人们常常给每一个人一个独特而鲜明的称呼，她的丈夫之所以称她卡尔贡特娘们，或许是因为玛德兰这三个字太温柔，太优雅了，他那粗笨的舌头说不惯。他虽然装出一副安于天命的样子，但请读者别误以为这位不幸的客栈老板不清楚正是那可恶的布揆耳运河给他带来了这些痛苦，或以为他永远不会为他妻子喋喋不休的抱怨所打动，不因眼看那条可恨的运河带走了他的顾客和钱，以致他那脾气乖戾的老婆整天唠叨，抱怨不止，使自己陷入于双重痛苦而恼怒不已。象其他的南部人一样，他也是一个老成持重，欲望不高的人，但却爱好浮夸和虚荣，极喜欢出风头。在他境况顺利的那些日子里，每逢节日，国庆，或举行典礼的时候，在凑热闹的人群之中，总缺不了他和他的妻子。他穿起法国南部人每逢这种大场面时所穿的那种漂亮的衣服，就象迦太兰人和安达露西亚人所穿的那种衣服；而他的老婆则穿上那种在阿尔妇女中流行的漂亮时装炫耀，那是一种摹仿希腊和阿拉伯式的服饰。但渐渐地，表链呀，项圈呀，花色领巾呀，绣花乳褡呀，丝绒背心呀，做工精美的袜子呀，条纹扎脚套呀，以及鞋子上的银搭扣呀，都不见了，于是，葛司柏·卡德鲁斯，既然不能再穿着以前的华丽服装外出露面了，就和他的妻子不再到这些浮华虚荣的场合去了，但每听到那些兴高采烈的欢呼声以及愉快的音乐声传到这个可怜的客栈的时候，传到这个他现在还依恋着的只能算是一个庇身之所，根本谈不上赚钱的小地方的时候，他的心里也未尝不感到嫉妒和痛苦。

这一天，卡德鲁斯如往常一样站在门前，时而无精打采地望望一片光秃秃的草地，时而望望道路。草地上有几只鸡正在那儿啄食一些谷物或昆虫。从南到北的道路上，空无一人。他在心里正盼望能有个客人来，忽然听到了一声他妻子的尖声叫喊：让他赶快到她那儿去。他嘴里嘟哝着，很不高兴他妻子打断了他的幻想，抬脚向她楼上的房间走去。但上楼以前，他把前门大开，象是请旅客在经过的时候不要忘记它似的。

当卡德鲁斯离开门口的时候，那条他极目凝望的道路，象中午的沙漠一样空旷和孤寂。它直挺挺地躺在那儿，象是一条无尽头的灰和沙所组成的线，两旁排列着高大枝叶稀疏的树，看来绝无动人之处，完全可以理解，任何一名旅游者只要他可以自由选择，是决不会选择在这烈日当空的时候，让自己到这个可怕的撒哈拉沙漠里来受罪的。可是，假如卡德鲁斯在他的门前多逗留几分钟的话，他就会看到一个模糊的轮廓从比里加答那个方向过来。当那个移动的目标走近的时候，他就会很容易地看出，那是一个人骑一匹马上，人与马之间，看来似乎有着很融洽的关系。那匹马是匈牙利种，一种踏着那种马所独有的安闲的快步跑来。骑马的人是一位教士，穿着一身黑衣服，戴着一顶三角帽，虽然中午的阳光很灼热，那一对人和马却以相当快的步子跑来。

来到杜加桥客栈面前，那匹马停了下来，但究竟是它自己要停的还是骑马的人要停的却很难说。但不管是谁要停下来的，总之，那位教士从马上跳了下来，牵着马辔头，想找个地方把它系上。他利用从一扇半倒的门上突出来的门闩，把马安全地系了起来，爱抚地拍了拍它，然后从口袋里抽出了一条红色的棉纱手帕，抹了一下额头上流下来的汗。他走到门前，用铁头手杖的一端敲了三下。一听到这不平凡的声音，一只大黑狗立刻窜出来，向着这个胆敢侵犯它一向宁静的寓所的人狂吠，并带着一种固执的敌意露出了它那尖利雪白的牙齿。这时，那座通到楼上去的木头楼梯上发出一阵沉重的脚步声，小客栈的店主连连鞠躬，带着客气的微笑，出现在门口。

“来了！”惊奇的卡德鲁斯说，“来了！别叫，马克丁！别怕，先生，它光叫，但从不咬人的。我想，在这大热天的，来一杯好酒怎么样？”说话间，卡德鲁斯这才看清了他所接待的这位旅客的相貌身份，他赶紧说，“请多多原谅，先生！我刚才没看清我有幸接待的人是谁。您想要点什么，教士先生？我听候您的吩咐。”

教士用探询的目光注视了一会儿眼前这个人，他似乎准备把客栈老板的注意力吸引过去。但除了看到对方脸上露出的极端惊讶的神色外，别无其他表情，于是他便结束了这一幕哑剧，带着一种强烈的意大利口音问道：“我想，您是卡德鲁斯先生吧？”

“先生说得很对，”店主回答说，这个问题甚至比刚才的沉默更使他惊奇不已，“我就是葛司柏·卡德鲁斯，愿意为您效劳。”

“葛司柏·卡德鲁斯！”教士应声答道。“对了，这就和我要找的那个人的姓名都对上了。您以前是住在梅朗巷一间小房子的五楼上吧？”

“是的。”

“您过去在那儿是个裁缝吧？”

“是的，我以前是个裁缝，后来干那一行愈来愈不行了，简直难以糊口了。而且，马赛的天气又那么热，我实在受不了啦，依我看，凡是可敬的居民都应该学我的榜样离开那个地方。说到热，您要我去拿点什么给您解渴吗？”

“好吧，把您最好的酒拿来吧，然后我们再继续谈下去。”

“悉听尊便，教士先生。”卡德鲁斯说道，他手头还留有几瓶卡奥尔葡萄酒，现在既然有了个主顾，当然很不希望错过这个机会，所以他急忙打开地下室的门，这扇门就在他们这个房间的地板上，这个房间，是这家客栈的客厅兼厨房。去地下室一趟来回花了五分钟，当他出来的时候，发现教士正坐在一张破长凳上，手肘撑着桌子，而马克丁对教士的敌意似乎已没有了。一反常态地坐在那里，伸着那有皮无毛的长脖子，用它那迟钝的目光热切地盯着这位奇怪的旅客的脸。

“您就一个人吗？”来客问道。卡德鲁斯把一酒瓶和一只玻璃杯放到了他面前。

“一个人，就一个人，”店主回答道，“或者说，跟只有一个人差不多，教士先生。因为我那可怜的老婆卧病在床，一点帮不上我的忙，可怜的东西！”

“那么，您结婚了！”教士很感兴趣地说道，边说边环视室内简陋的家具和摆设。“唉！教士先生！”卡德鲁斯叹了一口气说，“您已经看到了，我不是个有钱人，而要在这个世界上求生存，光做一个好人是不够的。”

教士用一种具有穿透力的目光盯着他。

“是的，好人，我以此为自豪，”客栈老板继续说道，全经受住了教士的那种目光。“可是，”他又意味深长地点点头，继续说道，“现在可不是人人都能这样说的了。”

“假如您所说的话是实情，那就好了，”教士说道，“因为我有充分的理由相信，善有善报，恶有恶报，总会有这么一天的。”

“您干这一行当然可以这么说，教士先生，”卡德鲁斯说道，“您这么说自然也没错，但是，”他面带痛苦地又说道，“信不信可是人家的权利。”

“您这样说可就错了，”教士说道，“也许我本身就可以证明这一点。”

“您这话是什么意思？”卡德鲁斯带着惊讶的神色问道。

“首先，我必须得证明您就是我所要找的那个人。”

“您要什么证据？”

“在一八一四或一八一五年的时候，您认不认识一个姓唐太斯的青年水手？”

“唐太斯？我认不认识他？认不认识那个可怜的爱德蒙？

我当然认识，我想没错。他是我最好的一个朋友。”卡德鲁斯大声说道，他的脸涨红了，而那问话者明亮镇定的眼光似乎更加深了这种色彩。

“您提醒了我，”教士说道，“我向您问起的那个年轻人，好象是名叫爱德蒙是不是？”

“好象是名叫！”卡德鲁斯重复了一遍这几个字，愈来愈紧张和兴奋了。“他就是叫那个名字，正如我就是叫葛司柏·卡德鲁斯一样。但是，教士先生，请你告诉我，我求求您，那可怜的爱德蒙他怎么样啦。您认识他吗？他还不活着吗？他自由了吗？他的境况很好，很幸福吗？”

“他在牢里死了，死时比那些在土伦监狱里作苦工的重犯更悲惨，更无望，更心碎。”

卡德鲁斯脸上的深红色现在变成了死灰色。他转过身去，教士看见他用那块缠在头上的红手帕的一角抹掉了一滴眼泪。

“可怜的人！”卡德鲁斯喃喃地说道。“哦，教士先生，刚才我对您说的话，现在又得到了一个证明，那就是，善良的上帝是只给恶人以善报的。唉，”卡德鲁斯用满带法国南部色彩的语言继续说道，“世道是愈变愈坏。上帝如果真的恨恶人，为什么不降下硫磺雷火，把他们烧个精光呢？”

“如此看来，你好象是很爱这个年轻的唐太斯似的。”教士说。

“我的确是这样，”卡德鲁斯答道，“尽管有一次，我承认，我曾嫉妒过他的好运。但我向您发誓，教士先生，从那以后，我是真心地为他的不幸而感到难过。”

房间是暂时沉默了一会儿。教士那锐利的目光不断地探寻着客栈老板那容易变化的脸部表情。

“那可以，您认识那可怜的孩子？”卡德鲁斯问道。

“他临死的时候，我曾被召到他的床边，给他作宗教上的安慰。”

“他是怎么死的？”卡德鲁斯用一种哽咽的声音问道。

“一个三十岁的人死在牢里，不是被折磨死的，还能怎么死呢？”

卡德鲁斯抹了一下额头上聚结起来的大滴汗珠。

“但非常奇怪的地是”教士继续说道，“甚至在他临终的时候，在他已吻到基督的脚的时候，唐太斯仍以基督的名义发誓，说他并不知道自己入狱的真正原因。”

“这是真的，这是真的！”卡德鲁斯喃喃地说道，“他是不会知道的。唉，教士先生，那个可怜的人告诉您的是真话。”

“他求我设法解开这个他自己始终无法解开的谜，并求我替他的过去恢复名誉，假如他过去真的被诬陷的话。”说到这里，教士的目光愈来愈垫定了，他认真地研究卡德鲁斯脸上那种近乎忧郁的表情。

“有一位患难之交，”教士继续说道，“是一个英国富翁，在第二次王朝复辟的时候，就从狱中被放了出来。这位英国富翁有一颗很值钱的钻石，在出狱的时候，他把这颗钻石送给了唐太斯，作为一种感谢的纪念，以报答他兄弟般的照顾，因为有一次他生了重病，唐太斯曾尽心看护过他。唐太斯没有用这颗钻石去贿赂狱卒，因为，如果他这样做了，狱卒很可能会拿了钻石以后又到堡长面前去出卖他，于是他把它小心地藏了起来，以备他一旦出狱，还可以靠它过活，因为他只需卖掉那粒钻石，就可以发财。”

“那么，我想，”卡德鲁斯带着热切的神色问道，“那是一颗很值钱的钻石罗？”

“一切都是相对而言，”教士答道，“对于爱德蒙来说，那颗钻石当然是很值钱的。据估计，它大概值五万法郎。”

“天哪！”卡德鲁斯喊道，“多大的一笔数目啊！五万法郎！

它一定大得象一颗胡桃！”

“不，”教士答道，“并没有那么大。不过您可以自己来判断，我把它带来了。”

卡德鲁斯尖利的目光立刻射向教士的衣服，象要透过衣服发现那宝物似的。教士不慌不忙地从他的口袋里摸出了一只黑鲛皮小盒子，打开盒子，在卡德鲁斯那惊喜的两眼面前露出一颗精工镶嵌在一只戒指上的光彩夺目的宝石。“这颗钻石，”卡德鲁斯喊道，他热切地紧盯着它，几乎喘不过气来了，“您说值五万法郎吗？”

“是的，还不算托子，那也是很值钱的。”教士一面回答，一面把盒子盖上，放回到他口袋里去了，但那钻石灿烂的光芒似乎仍旧还在望得出神的客栈老板的眼前跳跃着。

“这颗钻石怎么会到您手里的呢，教士先生？难道爱德蒙让您做他的继承人了吗？”

“不，我只是他的遗嘱执行人而已。在他临终的时候，那不幸的年轻人对我说，‘除了和我订婚的那位姑娘以外，我以前还有三个好朋友。我相信，对于我的死，他们都会真心哀痛的。

我所指的三位朋友，其中有一个叫卡德鲁斯’。”

客栈老板打了一个寒颤。

“‘另外一个，’”教士似乎没有注意到卡德鲁斯的情绪变化，继续说道，“‘叫腾格拉尔；而那第三个，虽然是我的情敌，却也是非常诚意地爱我的。’”卡德鲁斯的脸上现出了一个阴沉的微笑，他想插话进来，但教士摆了摆手，说，“先让我把话说完了，然后假如您有什么意见的话，那时再说好了。‘我的第三个朋友，虽然是我的情敌，却也是非常爱我的，他的名字叫做弗尔南多，我的未婚妻是叫——’等一等，等一等，”教士继续说道，“我忘记他叫她什么名字了。”

“美塞苔丝。”卡德鲁斯急切地说。

“不错，”教士轻轻叹了口气继续说道，“是美塞苔丝。”

“说下去呀。”卡德鲁斯催促说。

“请给我拿一瓶水来。”教士说道。

卡德鲁斯急忙完成了客人的吩咐。教士在杯子里倒了一些水，慢慢地喝完了它，又恢复了他往常那种沉着的态度，一面把他的空杯子放到桌子上，一面说：“我们刚才说到什么地方了？”

“爱德蒙的未婚妻叫美塞苔丝。”

“一点不错。‘你到马赛去，’唐太斯这样说，你懂吗？”

“完全懂得。”

“‘把这颗钻石卖了，然后把钱平分成五份，世界上仅有这几个人爱我，请你每人送他们一份。’”

“为什么分成五份呢？”卡德鲁斯问，“您才提到了四个人呀。”

“因为我听说那第五个人已经死了。第五个分享者是他的父亲。”

“唉，是啊！”卡德鲁斯失声说道，各种情感在他的内心里交战着，几乎使他窒息，“可怜的老人是死了。”

“这些我都是在马赛听说的，”教士竭力装出满不在乎的样子回答说，“老唐太斯死后，又过了这么多年，所以有关他临终时的详细情形我却探听不到。您知不知道那位老人最后那些日子是怎么过的？”

“哦！”卡德鲁斯说道，“谁还能比我知道得更清楚了，我可以说就和那可怜的老人同住在一层楼上。啊，是的！他的儿子失踪还不到一年，那可怜的老人就死了。”

“他是得了什么病死的？”

“哦，医生说他得了肠胃炎。但熟悉他的人都说他是忧伤而死的。而我，我几乎是看着他死的，我说他死于——”

“死于什么？”教士急切地问。

“死于饥饿。”

“饿死的！”教士从座位一跃而起，大声叫道。“什么，最卑贱的畜生也不该饿死。即使那些在街上四处游荡，无家可归的狗也会遇到一只怜悯的手投给它们一口面包的，一个人，一个基督徒，竟会让他饿死，而他周围又都是些自称为基督徒的人！不可能，噢，这太不可能了！”

“我所说的可都是实话。”卡德鲁斯答道。

“你错啦，”楼梯口有一个声音说道，“你何必要管跟与你无关的事呢？”

两个人转过头去看到了一脸病容的卡尔贡特娘们斜靠在楼梯的栏杆上。她因为被谈话的声音所吸引，所以有气无力地把她自己拖下了楼梯，坐在最下面的楼梯上，把刚才的谈话都听去了。

“关你什么事，老婆？”卡德鲁斯答道。“这位先生向我打听消息，就一般礼貌而言，我是不该拒绝的。”

“不错，要是谨慎你该拒绝。你知道那个人叫你讲这些话是何用意呢，傻瓜？”

“我向您保让，夫人，”教士说道，“我绝无任何想伤害您或您丈夫的用意。您的丈夫只要能如实回答我，他是什么都不必怕的。”

“什么都不用怕，是的！一开始总是许愿得挺漂亮，接着又说‘什么都不怕’然后，你就走了，把你所说的话都忘记了，等那倒霉的日子来了，祸事就落到了可怜虫的头上，他们甚至还不知道这祸事是从哪儿来的呢。”

“好心的太太，您尽可以放心，祸事决不会因我而降临到你们身上的，我向您保证。”

卡尔贡特娘们又嘟哝了几句别人听不清的话，然后，她又把头垂了下去，由于发烧而在不住地发抖，那两个谈话人重新拾起话头。她刚坐在那儿，听着他们所说的每一个字。教士不得不又喝下了一口水，以镇定他的情绪。当他已充分恢复常态的时候，他说道，“那么，您所说的那个可怜的老人既然是那样死去的，一定是其周围的人所抛弃的了？”

“他倒并没有完全被人抛弃，”卡德鲁斯答道，“那个迦太罗尼亚人美塞苔丝和莫雷尔先生待他都非常好，但那可怜的老人不知怎么极厌恶弗尔南多那个人，”卡德鲁斯带着一个苦笑又说道，“就是您刚才称为唐太斯的忠实而亲爱的朋友之一的那个家伙。”

“难道他不是这样的吗？”教士问道。

“葛司柏！葛司柏！”坐在楼梯上的妇人低声埋怨地说，“你想说什么心里可有点数！”

卡德鲁斯显然很不高兴被人打断讲话，所以他对那女人不予理睬，只是对教士说，“一个人想把别人的老婆夺为己有，还能称为对他朋友忠实吗？唐太斯，他有一颗金子般的心，只要人家自称和他要好，他就会相信。可怜的爱德蒙！但他幸亏始终不曾发觉，否则，在临终的时候要宽恕他们，可太难了。而不管别人怎么说，”卡德鲁斯用他那种充满庸俗的诗意的乡谈继续说道。“我却总觉得死人的诅咒比活人的仇恨更可怕些。”

“傻瓜！”卡尔贡特娘们大声说道。

“那么，您是知道弗尔南多怎么害唐太斯的了？”教士问卡德鲁斯。

“我？谁也不如我知道得更清楚啦。”

“那就说吧！”

“葛司柏！”卡尔贡特娘们又大声的叫道，“随你的便吧，你是一家之主，但假如你听我话，就什么也不要说。”

“好吧，好吧，老婆，”卡德鲁斯回答，“我相信你是对的。我听从你的劝告。”

“那么您决定不把您刚才要讲的事情讲出来了吗？”教士问道。

“唉，讲出来又有什么用呢？”卡德鲁斯问。“假如那个可怜的孩子还活着，亲自来求我，我会坦白地告诉他的，谁是他真正的朋友，谁是他的敌人，那时或许我倒不会犹豫。但您告诉我，他已经不在了，他已不再能怀恨或复仇了，所以还是让这一切善与恶都与他一起埋葬了吧。”

“那么您愿意，”教士说道，“我把那本来预备用来报答忠实的友谊的东西，给你所说的那些虚伪和可耻的人吗？”

“这倒也是，”卡德鲁斯答道，“您说得对，而且可怜的爱德蒙的遗产，现在对于他们还算得了什么呢？不过是沧海一粟罢了。”

“你也不想想看，”那女人说道，“那两个人只要动一动手指头，就可以把你压得粉碎的。”

“怎么会呢？”教士问道。“难道这些人竟会这样有钱有势吗？”

“您不了解他们的身世吗？”

“不了解。请你讲给我听听！”

卡德鲁斯想了一下，然后说，“不，真的，说来话可太长了。”

“好，我的好朋友，”教士回答说，语气间显示出这件事和他毫无关系，“讲与不讲是您的自由，尽可随便。我尊敬您处事的谨慎态度，这件事就算了吧。我只能凭良心尽我的责任了，去履行我对一个临终的人所许下的诺言。首先要做的就是处理这颗钻石。”说着，教士又从他的口袋里摸出了那只小盒子，打开盒子，让钻石灿烂的光芒直射到卡德鲁斯眼前，使他看得眼花缭乱。

“老婆，老婆！”他喊道，他的声音被紧张的情绪几乎弄得嘶哑了，“快来看这颗值钱的钻石呀！”

“钻石！”卡尔贡特娘们一面喊，一面站起身来，用一种相当坚定的步伐走下楼梯来，“你说的是什么钻石？”

“咦，我们说的话你难道没听到吗？”卡德鲁斯问。“这颗钻石是可怜的爱德蒙·唐太斯遗留下来的，要把它卖了，把钱平分给他父亲，他的未婚妻美茜苔丝，弗尔南多，腾格拉尔和我。

这颗钻石至少值五万法郎呢。”

“噢，多漂亮的一颗钻石啊！”那女人喊道。

“那么，这颗钻石所卖得的钱，五份之一是属于我们的了，是不是？”卡德鲁斯问，一面仍用他的眼睛贪婪地注视着那闪闪发光的钻石。

“是的，”教士答道，“另外还有本来预备给老唐太斯的那一份，我想，我可以自由作主，平均分配给还活着的四人。”

“为什么要分给我们四个人呢？”卡德鲁斯问。

“因为你们是爱德蒙的好朋友啊。”

“那些出卖你，使你倾家荡产的人，我才不会把他们叫做朋友呢。”那女人自言自语地低声说道。

“当然不，”卡德鲁斯立刻接上来说，“我也不会。我刚才对这位先生所说的就是这一点，我说，我认为对背信弃义，甚至对罪恶反而加以酬报，是一种污渎神灵的行为。”

“要记住，”教士一面回答，一面把宝石连盒子一起都放进了他的衣服口袋里，“我这样去做，可是您的错，不关我事。请您告诉我爱德蒙那几位朋友的地址，以便我执行他临终时的嘱托。”

卡德鲁斯真是紧张到了极点，大滴的汗珠从他的额头上滚了下来。当他看到站起身来，走向门口，象是去看看他的马究竟有没有恢复体力使他能够继续上路的时候，卡德鲁斯和他的老婆互相交换了一个意味深长的眼色。

“这颗漂亮的钻石可能完全归我们。”卡德鲁斯说。

“你相信吗？”

“象他这种神职人员，是不会骗我们的！”

“好吧，”那女人回答说，“你爱怎么着就怎么着吧。至于我，这件事我可不想插手。”说着，她重新上楼到她的房间去了，浑身痛苦地抖着，虽然，天气非常热，她的牙齿却格格地打战走到楼梯顶上，她又回过头来，用一种警告的口吻对她的丈夫大声说，“葛司柏，你可要想清楚了再做呀！”

“我已经决定了。”卡德鲁斯答道。

卡尔贡特娘们于是走进了她的房间，当她脚步踉跄地向她的圈椅走去的时候，她房间的地板吱吱格格地叫了起来，她倒在圈椅里，象是已精疲力尽了似的。

“你决定了什么？”教士问道。

“把我所知道的一切都告诉您。”他回答。

“我认为您这样做是很明智的，”教士说，“倒不是因为我要知道您想对我掩饰的事，我可丝毫没有这种意思，只是因为假如您能帮助我按照遗言人的愿望来分配遗产，嗯，那该多好。”

“我也希望如此。&