come over.
Caderousse climbed the ladder slowly, and looked over the coping to see
if the street was quiet. No one could be seen or heard. The clock of
the Invalides struck one. Then Caderousse sat astride the coping, and
drawing up his ladder passed it over the wall; then he began to descend,
or rather to slide down by the two stanchions, which he did with an ease
which proved how accustomed he was to the exercise. But, once started,
he could not stop. In vain did he see a man start from the shadow when
he was halfway down--in vain did he see an arm raised as he touched the
ground. Before he could defend himself that arm struck him so violently
in the back that he let go the ladder, crying, "Help!" A second blow
struck him almost immediately in the side, and he fell, calling, "Help,
murder!" Then, as he rolled on the ground, his adversary seized him by
the hair, and struck him a third blow in the chest. This time Caderousse
endeavored to call again, but he could only utter a groan, and he
shuddered as the blood flowed from his three wounds. The assassin,
finding that he no longer cried out, lifted his head up by the hair; his
eyes were closed, and the mouth was distorted. The murderer, supposing
him dead, let fall his head and disappeared. Then Caderousse, feeling
that he was leaving him, raised himself on his elbow, and with a dying
voice cried with great effort, "Murder! I am dying! Help, reverend
sir,--help!"

This mournful appeal pierced the darkness. The door of the
back-staircase opened, then the side-gate of the garden, and Ali and his
master were on the spot with lights.

Chapter 83. The Hand of God.

Caderousse continued to call piteously, "Help, reverend sir, help!"

"What is the matter?" asked Monte Cristo.

"Help," cried Caderousse; "I am murdered!"

"We are here;--take courage."

"Ah, it's all over! You are come too late--you are come to see me die.
What blows, what blood!" He fainted. Ali and his master conveyed the
wounded man into a room. Monte Cristo motioned to Ali to undress him,
and he then examined his dreadful wounds. "My God!" he exclaimed, "thy
vengeance is sometimes delayed, but only that it may fall the more
effectually." Ali looked at his master for further instructions. "Bring
here immediately the king's attorney, M. de Villefort, who lives in the
Faubourg St. Honore. As you pass the lodge, wake the porter, and send
him for a surgeon." Ali obeyed, leaving the abbe alone with Cad