shman protecting you?"

"No, not me, but a young Corsican, my companion."

"What was this young Corsican's name?"

"Benedetto."

"Is that his Christian name?"

"He had no other; he was a foundling."

"Then this young man escaped with you?"

"He did."

"In what way?"

"We were working at St. Mandrier, near Toulon. Do you know St.
Mandrier?"

"I do."

"In the hour of rest, between noon and one o'clock"--

"Galley-slaves having a nap after dinner! We may well pity the poor
fellows!" said the abbe.

"Nay," said Caderousse, "one can't always work--one is not a dog."

"So much the better for the dogs," said Monte Cristo.

"While the rest slept, then, we went away a short distance; we severed
our fetters with a file the Englishman had given us, and swam away."

"And what is become of this Benedetto?"

"I don't know."

"You ought to know."

"No, in truth; we parted at Hyeres." And, to give more weight to his
protestation, Caderousse advanced another step towards the abbe, who
remained motionless in his place, as calm as ever, and pursuing
his interrogation. "You lie," said the Abbe Busoni, with a tone of
irresistible authority.

"Reverend sir!"

"You lie! This man is still your friend, and you, perhaps, make use of
him as your accomplice."

"Oh, reverend sir!"

"Since you left Toulon what have you lived on? Answer me!"

"On what I could get."

"You lie," repeated the abbe a third time, with a still more imperative
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.

"Well, I should think so, since the count has found him a false
father--since the count gives him four thousand francs a month, and
leaves him 500,000 francs in his will."

"Ah, yes," said the factitious 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 stan