“We are never quits with those who oblige us,” was Dantes’ reply; “for when we do not owe them money, we owe them gratitude.”
“What’s the use of mentioning that? What is done is done. Let us talk of your happy return, my boy. I had gone on the quay to match a piece of mulberry cloth, when I met friend Danglars. ‘You at Marseilles?’ — ‘Yes,’ says he.
“‘I thought you were at Smyrna.’ — ‘I was; but am now back again.’
“‘And where is the dear boy, our little Edmond?’
“‘Why, with his father, no doubt,’ replied Danglars. And so I came,” added Caderousse, “as fast as I could to have the pleasure of shaking hands with a friend.”
“Worthy Caderousse!” said the old man, “he is so much attached to us.”
“Yes, to be sure I am. I love and esteem you, because honest folks are so rare. But it seems you have come back rich, my boy,” continued the tailor, looking askance at the handful of gold and silver which Dantes had thrown on the table.
The young man remarked the greedy glance which shone in the dark eyes of his neighbor. “Eh,” he said, negligently. “this money is not mine. I was expressing to my father my fears that he had wanted many things in my absence, and to convince me he emptied his purse on the table. Come, father” added Dantes, “put this money back in your box — unless neighbor Caderousse wants anything, and in that case it is at his service.”
“No, my boy, no,” said Caderousse. “I am not in any want, thank God, my living is suited to my means. Keep your money — keep it, I say; — one never has too much; — but, at the same time, my boy, I am as much obliged by your offer as if I took advantage of it.”
“It was offered with good will,” said Dantes.
“No doubt, my boy; no doubt. Well, you stand well with M. Morrel I hear, — you insinuating dog, you!”
“M. Morrel has always been exceedingly kind to me,” replied Dantes.
“Then you were wrong to refuse to dine with him.”
“What, did you refuse to dine with him?” said old Dantes; “and did he invite you to dine?”
“Yes, my dear father,” replied Edmond, smiling at his father’s astonishment at the excessive honor paid to his son.
“And why did you refuse, my son?” inquired the old man.
“That I might the sooner see you again, my dear father,” replied the young man. “I was most anxious to see you.”
“But it must have vexed M. Morrel, good, worthy man,” said Caderousse. “And when you are looking forward to be captain, it was wrong to annoy the owner.”
“But I explained to him the cause of my refusal,” replied Dantes, “and I hope he fully understood it.”
“Yes, but to be captain one must do a little flattery to one’s patrons.”
“I hope to be captain without that,” said Dantes.
“So much the better — so much the better! Nothing will give greater pleasure to all your old friends; and I know one down there behind the Saint Nicolas citadel who will not be sorry to hear it.”
“Mercedes?” said the old man.
“Yes, my dear father, and with your permission, now I have seen you, and know you are well and have all you require, I will ask your consent to go and pay a visit to the Catalans.”
“Go, my dear boy,” said old Dantes: “and heaven bless you in your wife, as it has blessed me in my son!”
“His wife!” said Caderousse; “why, how fast you go on, father Dantes; she is not his wife yet, as it seems to me.”
“So, but according to all probability she soon will be,” replied Edmond.
“Yes — yes,” said Caderousse; “but you were right to return as soon as possible, my boy.”
“And why?”
“Because Mercedes is a very fine girl, and fine girls never lack followers; she particularly has them by dozens.”
“Really?” answered Edmond, with a smile which had in it traces of slight uneasiness.
“Ah, yes,” continued Caderousse, “and capital offers, too; but you know, you will be captain, and who could refuse you then?”