The young man remarked the greedy glance which shone in the dark eyes of his neighbor. “Eh,” he said, negligently, “this money is not mine. I was expressing to my father my fears that he had wanted many things in my absence, and to convince me he emptied his purse on the table. Come, father” added Dantès, “put this money back in your box—unless neighbor Caderousse wants anything, and in that case it is at his service.”
“No, my boy, no,” said Caderousse. “I am not in any want, thank God, my living is suited to my means. Keep your money—keep it, I say;—one never has too much;—but, at the same time, my boy, I am as much obliged by your offer as if I took advantage of it.”
“It was offered with good will,” said Dantès.
“No doubt, my boy; no doubt. Well, you stand well with M. Morrel I hear—you insinuating dog, you!”
“ M. Morrel has always been exceedingly kind to me,” replied Dantès.
“Then you were wrong to refuse to dine with him.”
“What, did you refuse to dine with him?” said old Dantès; “and did he invite you to dine?”
“Yes, my dear father,” replied Edmond, smiling at his father’s astonishment at the excessive honor paid to his son.
“And why did you refuse, my son?” inquired the old man.
“That I might the sooner see you again, my dear father,” replied the young man. “I was most anxious to see you.”
“But it must have vexed M. Morrel, good, worthy man,” said Caderousse. “And when you are looking forward to be captain, it was wrong to annoy the owner.”