father, and offered to receive him in his own house; and the night or two before his death, as I have already said, he left his purse on the mantelpiece, with which they paid the old man’s debts, and buried him decently; and so Edmond’s father died, as he had lived, without doing harm to anyone. I have the purse still by me—a large one, made of red silk.”
“And,” asked the abbé, “is M. Morrel still alive?”
“Yes,” replied Caderousse.
“In that case,” replied the abbé, “he should be a man blessed of God, rich, happy.”
Caderousse smiled bitterly. “Yes, happy as myself,” said he.
“What! M. Morrel unhappy?” exclaimed the abbé.
“He is reduced almost to the last extremity—nay, he is almost at the point of dishonor.”
“How?”
“Yes,” continued Caderousse, “so it is; after five-and-twenty years of labor, after having acquired a most honorable name in the trade of Marseilles, M. Morrel is utterly ruined; he has lost five ships in two years, has suffered by the bankruptcy of three large houses, and his only hope now is in that very Pharaon which poor Dantès commanded, and which is expected from the Indies with a cargo of cochineal and indigo. If this ship founders, like the others, he is a ruined man.”
“And has the unfortunate man wife or children?” inquired the abbé.
“Yes, he has a wife, who through everything has behaved like an angel; he has a daughter, who was about to marry the man she loved, but whose family now will not allow him to wed the daughter of a ruined man; he