tive tone. Caderousse, terrified, looked at the count. "You have lived on the money he has given you."
"True!" said Caderousse; "Benedetto has become the son of a great lord."
"How can he be the son of a great lord?"
"A natural son."
"And what is that great lord's name?"
"The Count of Monte-Cristo, the very same in whose house we are."
"Benedetto the count's son!" replied Monte-Cristo, astonished in his turn.
"Forsooth! I suppose so, since the count has found him a false father—since the count gives him four thousand francs a month, and leaves him five hundred thousand francs in his will."
"Ah! ah!" said the false abbe, who began to understand; "and what name does the young man bear meanwhile?"
"Andrea Cavalcanti."
"Is it, then, that young man whom my friend the Count of Monte-Cristo has received into his house, and who is going to marry Mademoiselle Danglars?"
"Exactly."
"And you suffer that, you wretch!—you, who know his life and his crime?"
"Why should I stand in a comrade's way?" said Caderousse.
"You are right; it is not you who should apprise M. Danglars, it is I."
"Do not do so, M. l'Abbé."
"Why not?"
"Because you would bring us to ruin."
"And you think that to save such villains as you I will become an abettor of their plot—an accomplice in their crimes?"
"M. l'Abbe," said Caderousse, drawing still nearer.
"I will expose all."
"To whom?"
"To M. Danglars."
"By Heaven!" cried Caderousse, drawing from his waistcoat an open knife, and striking the count in the breast, "you shall disclose nothing, M. l'Abbé!"
To Caderousse's great astonishment, the knife, instead of piercing the count's breast, flew back blunted. At the same moment the count seized with his left hand the assassin's wrist, and wrung it with such strength that the knife fell from his stiffened fingers, and Caderousse uttered a cry of pain. But the count, disregarding his cry, continued to wring the bandit's wrist, until, his arm being dislocated, he fell first on his knees, then flat on the floor.
