coat, waistcoat, and shirt, and one might distinguish by the glimmering through the open panel that he wore one of those pliant tunics of steel mail, of which the last in France, where daggers are no longer feared, was worn by King Louis XVI., who feared the dagger at his breast, and whose head was cleft with the axe. This tunic soon disappeared under a long cassock, as did his hair under a priest's wig; the three-cornered hat over this, effectually transformed the count into an abbé.
The man, hearing nothing more, had again raised himself, and, while Monte-Cristo was completing his disguise, had advanced straight to the secrétaire, whose lock was beginning to creak under his nightingale.
"Well done!" whispered the count, who depended on the secret spring which was unknown to the picklock, clever as he might be, "well done! you have a few minutes' work there."
And he advanced to the window. The man whom he had seen seated on a fence had got down, and was still pacing the street; but, strange as it appeared, he cared not for those who might pass from the avenue of the Champs Elysées or by the Faubourg Saint-Honoré; his attention was engrossed with what was passing at the count's, and his only aim appeared to be to discern every movement in the dressing-room.
Monte-Cristo suddenly struck his finger on his forehead, and a smile passed over his lips; then drawing near to Ali, he whispered:
"Remain here, concealed in the dark, and whatever noise you hear, whatever passes, only come in or show yourself if I call you."
Ali bowed in token of strict obedience. Monte-Cristo then drew a lighted taper from a closet, and when the thief was deeply engaged with his lock, silently opened the door, taking care that the light should shine directly on his face. The door opened so quietly that the thief heard no sound; but, to his astonishment, the room was in a moment light. He turned.
"Good-evening, dear M. Caderousse!" said Monte-Cristo; "what are you doing here at such an hour?"
"The Abbé Busoni!" exclaimed Caderousse; and not knowing how this strange apparition could have entered when he had bolted the doors, he let fall his bunch of keys, and remained motionless and stupefied. The count placed himself between Caderousse and the window, thus cutting off from the thief his only chance of retreat.
"The Abbé Busoni!" repeated Caderousse, fixing his haggard gaze on the count.
"Yes, doubtless, the Abbé Busoni himself!" replied Monte-Cristo. "And I am very glad you recognize me, dear M. Caderousse; it proves
