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 Saint-Honoré. As you pass the lodge, wake the porter, and send him for a surgeon.”
Ali obeyed, leaving the abbé alone with Caderousse, who had not yet revived.
When the wretched man again opened his eyes, the count looked at him with a mournful expression of pity, and his lips moved as if in prayer. “A surgeon, reverend sir—a surgeon!” said Caderousse.
“I have sent for one,” replied the abbé.