you have a good memory, for it must be about ten years since we last met."
This calmness of Busoni, combined with his irony and boldness, staggered Caderousse.
"The abbé, the abbé!" murmured he, clenching his fists, and his teeth chattering.
"So you would rob the Count of Monte-Cristo!" continued the false abbé.
"M. l'Abbé," murmured Caderousse, seeking to regain the window, which the count pitilessly intercepted,—"M. l'Abbé, I don't know—believe me—I take my oath"
"A pane of glass out," continued the count, "a dark lantern, a bunch of false keys, a secrétaire half forced—it is tolerably evident"
Caderousse was choking; he looked round for some corner to hide—in some way of escape.
"Come, come," continued the count, "I see you are still the same—an assassin."
"M. l'Abbé, since you know everything, you know it was not I—it was La Carconte; that was proved at the trial, since I was only condemned to the galleys."
"Is your time, then, expired, since I find you in a fair way to return there?"
"No, M. l'Abbé, I have been liberated by some one."
"That some one has done society a great kindness."
"Ah," said Caderousse, "I had promised"
"And you are breaking your promise!" interrupted Monte-Cristo.
"Alas, yes!" said Caderousse, very uneasily.
"A bad relapse, that will lead you, if I mistake not, to the Place de Grève. So much the worse, so much the worse—diavolo! as they say in my country."
"M. l'Abbé, I am impelled"
"Every criminal says the same thing."
"Poverty"
"Pshaw!" said Busoni, disdainfully; "poverty may make a man beg, steal a loaf of bread at a baker's door, but not cause him to open a secrétaire in a house supposed to be inhabited. And when the jeweler Johannes had just paid you forty-five thousand francs for the diamond I had given you, and you killed him to get the diamond and the money, both, was that also poverty?"
"Pardon, M. l'Abbé!" said Caderousse; "you have saved my life once, save me again!"
"That is but poor encouragement."
