"At La Réserve! Oh, yes! I can see it all before me this moment."
"Was it not his betrothal feast?"
"It was; and the feast that began so gayly had a very sorrowful ending: a commissary of police, followed by four soldiers, entered, and Dantès was arrested."
"Yes, and up to this point I know all," said the priest. "Dantès himself only knew that which personally concerned him, for he never beheld again the five persons I have named to you, nor heard mention of any one of them."
"Well, when Dantès was arrested, M. Morrel hastened to obtain the particulars, and they were very sad. The old man returned alone to his home, folded up his wedding suit with tears in his eyes, and paced up and down his chamber the whole day, and would not go to bed at all, for I was underneath him and heard him walking the whole night; and for myself, I assure you I could not sleep either, for the grief of the poor father gave me great uneasiness, and every step he took went to my heart as really as if his foot had pressed against my breast.
"The next day Mercédès came to implore the protection of M. de Villefort. She did not obtain it, however, and went to visit the old man; — when she saw him so miserable and heart-broken, having passed a sleepless night, and not touched food since the previous day, she wished him to go with her that she might take care of him; but the old man would not consent. 'No,' was the old man's reply, 'I will not leave this house, for my poor dear boy loves me better than anything in the world; and if he gets out of prison he will come and see me the first thing, and what would he think if I did not wait here for him?' I heard all this from the window, for I was anxious that Mercédès should persuade the old man to accompany her, for his footsteps over my head night and day did not leave me a moment's repose."
"But did you not go upstairs and try to console the poor old man?" asked the abbé.
"Ah, sir," replied Caderousse, "we cannot console those who will not be consoled, and he was one of these; besides, I know not why, but he seemed to dislike seeing me. One night, however, I heard his sobs, and I could not resist my desire to go up to him, but when I reached his door he was no longer weeping, but praying. I cannot now repeat to you, sir, all the eloquent words and piteous supplications he made use of; it was more than piety, it was more than grief; and I, who am no canter, and hate the Jesuits, said then to myself, 'It is really well that I am all alone, and I am very glad that I have not any children; for if I were a father, and felt such excessive grief as the old man does, and did not find in my memory or heart all he is now saying, I should throw myself into the sea at once, for I could not bear it.'"
