his misery, and saying to Mercédès, ‘If you ever see my Edmond again, tell him I die blessing him.’ ”
The abbé rose from his chair, made two turns round the chamber, and pressed his trembling hand against his parched throat.
“And you believe he died—”
“Of hunger, sir, of hunger,” said Caderousse. “I am as certain of it as that we two are Christians.”
The abbé, with a shaking hand, seized a glass of water that was standing by him half-full, swallowed it at one gulp, and then resumed his seat, with red eyes and pale cheeks.
“This was, indeed, a horrid event,” said he in a hoarse voice.
“The more so, sir, as it was men’s and not God’s doing.”
“Tell me of those men,” said the abbé, “and remember too,” he added