eserve! Oh, yes; I can see it all before me this moment."

"Was it not his betrothal feast?"

"It was and the feast that began so gayly had a very sorrowful ending;
a police commissary, followed by four soldiers, entered, and Dantes was
arrested."

"Yes, and up to this point I know all," said the priest. "Dantes himself
only knew that which personally concerned him, for he never beheld again
the five persons I have named to you, or heard mention of any one of
them."

"Well, when Dantes was arrested, Monsieur Morrel hastened to obtain the
particulars, and they were very sad. The old man returned alone to his
home, folded up his wedding suit with tears in his eyes, and paced up
and down his chamber the whole day, and would not go to bed at all,
for I was underneath him and heard him walking the whole night; and for
myself, I assure you I could not sleep either, for the grief of the poor
father gave me great uneasiness, and every step he took went to my heart
as really as if his foot had pressed against my breast. The next day
Mercedes came to implore the protection of M. de Villefort; she did not
obtain it, however, and went to visit the old man; when she saw him so
miserable and heart-broken, having passed a sleepless night, and not
touched food since the previous day, she wished him to go with her that
she might take care of him; but the old man would not consent. 'No,' was
the old man's reply, 'I will not leave this house, for my poor dear boy
loves me better than anything in the world; and if he gets out of prison
he will come and see me the first thing, and what would he think if I
did not wait here for him?' I heard all this from the window, for I was
anxious that Mercedes should persuade the old man to accompany her, for
his footsteps over my head night and day did not leave me a moment's
repose."

"But did you not go up-stairs and try to console the poor old man?"
asked the abbe.

"Ah, sir," replied Caderousse, "we cannot console those who will not
be consoled, and he was one of these; besides, I know not why, but he
seemed to dislike seeing me. One night, however, I heard his sobs, and I
could not resist my desire to go up to him, but when I reached his door
he was no longer weeping but praying. I cannot now repeat to you, sir,
all the eloquent words and imploring language he made use of; it was
more than piety, it was more than grief, and I, who am no canter, and
hate the Jesuits, said then to myself, 'It