"What have you seen? — come, tell me!"
"Well, every time I have seen Mercédès come into the city, she has been accompanied by a tall, strapping, black-eyed Catalan, with a red complexion, brown skin, and fierce air, whom she calls cousin."
"Really; and you think this cousin pays her attentions?"
"I suppose so. What else can a strapping chap of twenty-one mean with a fine lass of seventeen?"
"And you say Dantès has gone to the Catalans?"
"He went before I came down."
"Let us go the same way; we will stop at La Réserve, and we can drink a glass of La Malgue, whilst we wait for news."
"Come along," said Caderousse; "but mind you pay the shot."
"Certainly," replied Danglars.
The two walked quickly to the spot alluded to; on their reaching it, they called for a bottle of wine and two glasses.
Père Pamphile had seen Dantès pass not ten minutes before.
Assured that Dantès was at the Catalans, they sat down under the budding foliage of the planes and sycamores, in the branches of which the birds were joyously singing on one of the first fair days in spring.
