at once shut the blind.”
“And M. de Villefort?” asked the abbé.
“Oh, he never was a friend of mine, I did not know him, and I had nothing to ask of him.”
“Do you not know what became of him, and the share he had in Edmond’s misfortunes?”
“No; I only know that some time after Edmond’s arrest, he married Mademoiselle de Saint-Méran, and soon after left Marseilles; no doubt he has been as lucky as the rest; no doubt he is as rich as Danglars, as high in station as Fernand. I only, as you see, have remained poor, wretched, and forgotten.”
“You are mistaken, my friend,” replied the abbé; “God may seem sometimes to forget for a time, while his justice reposes, but there always comes a moment when he remembers—and behold—a proof!”
As he spoke, the abbé took the diamond from his pocket, and giving it to Caderousse, said, “Here, my friend, take this diamond, it is yours.”
“What, for me only?” cried Caderousse, “ah, sir, do not jest with me!”
“This diamond was to have been shared among his friends. Edmond had one friend only, and thus it cannot be divided. Take the diamond, then, and sell it; it is worth fifty thousand francs, and I repeat my wish that this sum may suffice to release you from your wretchedness.”
“Oh, sir,” said Caderousse, putting out one hand timidly, and with the other wiping away the perspiration which bedewed his brow—“Oh, sir, do not make a jest of the happiness or despair of a man.”
“I know what happiness and what despair are, and