“Yes, sir,” replied the stranger with a slight hesitation, and blushing.
The abbé replaced the large spectacles, which covered not only his eyes but his temples, and sitting down motioned to his visitor to do the same. “I am at your service, sir,” said the abbé, with a marked Italian accent.
“The mission with which I am charged, sir,” replied the visitor, speaking with hesitation, “is a confidential one on the part of him who fulfils it, and him by whom he is employed.”
The abbé bowed. “Your probity,” replied the stranger, “is so well known to the prefect that he wishes as a magistrate to ascertain from you some particulars connected with the public safety, to ascertain which I am deputed to see you. It is hoped that no ties of friendship or humane consideration will induce you to conceal the truth.”
“Provided, sir, the particulars you wish for do not interfere with my scruples or my conscience. I am a priest, sir, and the secrets of confession, for instance, must remain between me and God, and not between me and human justice.”
“Do not alarm yourself, monsieur, we will duly respect your conscience.”
At this moment the abbé pressed down his side of the shade and so raised it on the other, throwing a bright light on the stranger’s face, while his own remained obscured.
“Excuse me, abbé,” said the envoy of the prefect of the police, “but the light tries my eyes very much.”
The abbé lowered the shade.
“Now, sir, I am listening—go on.”
“I will come at once to the point. Do you know the Count of Monte Cristo?”