Alexandre Dumas: The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 107: The Lions' Den. (continued)

"You, sir? -- you are my adopted father. But it was not you, I presume, who placed at my disposal 100,000 francs, which I spent in four or five months; it was not you who manufactured an Italian gentleman for my father; it was not you who introduced me into the world, and had me invited to a certain dinner at Auteuil, which I fancy I am eating at this moment, in company with the most distinguished people in Paris -- amongst the rest with a certain procureur, whose acquaintance I did very wrong not to cultivate, for he would have been very useful to me just now; -- it was not you, in fact, who bailed me for one or two millions, when the fatal discovery of my little secret took place. Come, speak, my worthy Corsican, speak!"

"What do you wish me to say?"

"I will help you. You were speaking of the Champs Elysees just now, worthy foster-father."

"Well?"

"Well, in the Champs Elysees there resides a very rich gentleman."

"At whose house you robbed and murdered, did you not?"

"I believe I did."

"The Count of Monte Cristo?"

"'Tis you who have named him, as M. Racine says. Well, am I to rush into his arms, and strain him to my heart, crying, `My father, my father!' like Monsieur Pixerecourt."*

"Do not let us jest," gravely replied Bertuccio, "and dare not to utter that name again as you have pronounced it."

* Guilbert de Pixerecourt, French dramatist (1775-1844).

"Bah," said Andrea, a little overcome, by the solemnity of Bertuccio's manner, "why not?"

"Because the person who bears it is too highly favored by heaven to be the father of such a wretch as you."