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The evening went on. Mme de Villefort expressed a desire to return to Paris, which Mme Danglars had not yet dared to do, despite the obvious discomfort that she felt. So, at his wife's request, M. de Villefort was the first to make a move to depart. He offered Mme Danglars a place in his landau, so that his wife could look after her. As for M. Danglars, he paid no attention to what was going on, being engrossed in a most absorbing conversation about industrial matters with M. Cavalcanti.

While Monte Cristo was asking Mme de Villefort for her flask, he had noticed M. de Villefort go over to Mme Danglars and, judging by the situation, also guessed what was said between them, even though Villefort had spoken so softly that Mme Danglars herself could hardly hear him.

He made no objection, but let Morrel, Debray and Château-Renaud leave on horseback, while the two ladies got into M. de Villefort's landau. Danglars, for his part, was increasingly delighted with the elder Cavalcanti, whom he invited to join him in his coupé.

As for Andrea Cavalcanti, he took his tilbury, which was waiting at the door with a groom, dressed in an extravagant version of the English fashion, holding the enormous iron-grey horse and standing on tiptoe. Andrea had said little during dinner, precisely because he was an intelligent lad who was afraid of saying something ridiculous in front of these rich and powerful guests among whom his anxious eyes had perhaps been disturbed to find a crown prosecutor. After that, he had been monopolized by M. Danglars who, after a quick glance at the stiff-necked old major and his rather shy son, had weighed up this evidence in the light of Monte Cristo's hospitality and concluded that he was dealing with some nabob who had come to Paris to "finish" his only son by introducing him to society.

Consequently he had looked with odious complacency at the huge diamond adorning the major's little finger -- for the major, as a cautious man of the world, had been afraid that some accident might befall his banknotes and had rapidly converted them into an object of value. Then, after dinner, still on the pretext of industry and travel, he had questioned father and son on their style of life. The pair, knowing that one of them was to have his credit of 48,000 francs, when they arrived, with Danglars' bank, and the other his annual credit of 50,000 livres, had both been charming and full of conviviality towards the banker. Indeed, their gratitude felt so urgent a need to express itself that they would even have shaken hands with Danglars' servants, if they had not managed to restrain themselves.

"And I, Monsieur," he replied, "shall be happy to receive you." Whereupon he had offered to drive Cavalcanti back to the Hôtel des Princes, provided (of course) that he could bear to be separated from his son.

One thing in particular increased Danglars' respect -- one might almost say veneration -- for Cavalcanti. The latter, obedient to Horace's principle nil admirari, had been satisfied as we saw with demonstrating his erudition by naming the lake from which one gets the best lampreys. Then he had eaten his share of the same without uttering another word. Danglars jumped to the conclusion that this kind of feast was quite familiar to the illustrious descendant of the Cavalcantis, who probably dined at his home in Lucca on trout from Switzerland and lobster from Brittany brought to him by the same means as the count had used to fetch lampreys from Lake Fusaro and sturgeon from the Volga. So, when Cavalcanti announced: "Tomorrow, Monsieur, I shall have the honour of visiting you on a matter of business," he responded with a marked air of amiability.

As for Andrea, in order to cut a good figure, he started by scolding his groom for not coming to collect him at the steps instead of at the gate, meaning that he had an extra thirty steps to reach his tilbury. The groom accepted the telling-off with good grace and shifted the bit into his left hand, to restrain the horse, which was stamping its hoof with impatience, and with the other hand gave the reins to Andrea, who took them and lightly set his polished boot on the running-board.

Cavalcanti replied that his son had long been accustomed to lead the bachelor life of a young man and consequently had his own horses and carriages; since they had not arrived together, he saw no difficulty in their leaving separately.

So the major got into Danglars' carriage and the banker took his place by his side, ever more charmed by the man's ideas of order and economy, even though he gave his son 50,000 francs a year, which indicated a fortune capable of producing an income of some 5,000 or 6,000 livres.

At that moment a hand touched his shoulder. The young man looked around, thinking that Danglars or Monte Cristo must have forgotten to tell him something and wished to catch him as he was leaving. But, instead of either of them, he saw a strange face, tanned by the sun and enclosed in a ready-made beard, with eyes shining like gems and a mocking smile which revealed, inside the mouth, each one in its place and not a single one missing, thirty-two sharp white teeth, as ravenous as those of a wolf or a jackal. The head, with its dirty greying hair, was covered in a red check handkerchief, and the dirtiest, most ragged workman's smock hung around a frame so fleshless and bony that you half expected the bones to clink like those of a skeleton as it walked. As for the hand which clasped Andrea's shoulder, and the first thing that the young man saw, it seemed to him to be of gigantic size. Did the young man recognize the creature in the light from the lantern on his tilbury, or was he simply struck by his horrible appearance? We cannot say, but he shuddered and started back.

"Beg pardon, guv'nor!" the man said, lifting a hand to his red kerchief. "I may be interrupting, but I must have a word."

"You shouldn't beg after dark," the groom said, threatening to drive this trouble-maker away from his master.

"I'm not begging, my fine fellow," the stranger replied with an ironic smile -- a smile so terrifying that the groom shrank back. "I just want to say two words to your guv"nor, who asked me not a fortnight ago to do something for him."

"What do you want with me?" he asked.

"Come, come," said Andrea, loudly enough to disguise his anxiety from the servant. "What do you want? Quick now, friend."

"I want… I want…" the man in the red kerchief whispered, "you to spare me the trouble of walking back to Paris. I'm very tired and, not having dined as well as you, I can hardly stand."

"Well, I should like you to let me get into your fine carriage and to drive me back."

Andrea's face paled, but he said nothing.

The young man shuddered at this unusual familiarity. "But what do you want from me?" he asked.

The servant went away, surprised.

"At least let me reach the shadows," said Andrea.

"As far as that's concerned, I'll find you the perfect spot," the man said, taking the horse by the bit and leading the tilbury to a place where it was impossible for anyone to see the honour Andrea was according him.

"For heaven's sake!" the man in the red kerchief said, digging his hands into his pockets and giving the young man a challenging look. "Yes, it's an idea I've got. Do you understand, my little Benedetto?"

At that name, the young man no doubt thought again, with the result that he went over to his groom and said: "I did indeed give this man a job to do for me and he is going to tell me the outcome. Walk as far as the gate and take a cab there, so as not to be too late home."

"It's not because I want the glory of getting into your fine carriage," he continued, "but simply that I am tired; and also, a bit, because I have business to discuss with you."

"Come, get in," said the young man.

It is a great shame that it was not daylight, because the spectacle must have been odd indeed, with the tramp plainly seated on the upholstered seat of the tilbury beside its elegant young driver.

"How have I defied you?"

"And why do you defy me, my lad?"

Andrea drove the horse to the last house on the outskirts of the village without saying a word to his companion, who smiled and kept his mouth shut, as if delighted to be travelling in such a fine vehicle. But once they were out of Auteuil, Andrea looked around, no doubt to make sure that they could not be overheard or overlooked, pulled up the horse and said, crossing his arms in front of the man with the red kerchief: "Damn it! Why have you come to disturb me now?"

"How? You are asking me how? We separated at the Pont du Var, when you told me you were going to travel through Piedmont and Tuscany, and not a bit of it: you came to Paris."

"Why should you mind?"

"On the contrary, I don't. Not at all. I even hope it might be useful."

"Ah! I see!" Andrea said. "You're speculating on me."

"I warn you, Master Caderousse, you would be making a mistake."

"There you are! Insults already."

"All right, my lad, all right. Don't get angry. But you must know what it's like to fall on hard times. It makes you envious. So there am I, thinking you're roving around Piedmont and Tuscany, forced to work as a faccino or a cicerone, and feeling sorry for you, as I would for my own child… You know I've always called you my child?"

"I am patient. Just say what you have to."

"And the result, you tell me, is that you're envious?"

"Then all at once I see you riding through the gate at Les Bons-Hommes with a groom, and a tilbury, and brand-new clothes. Brand new! What does it mean? You've discovered a gold mine -- or have you bought a place on the Exchange?"

"Hold on! Be patient!"

"No, no, I'm happy; so happy that I wanted to congratulate you, little one! But since I was not formally dressed, I took steps to make sure I didn't compromise you."

"What do you expect! I accosted you when I could. You have a lively horse and a light carriage, you are by nature as slippery as an eel and, if I had missed you this evening, I might never have caught you at all."

"So? What about it?"

"Some steps!" Andrea said. "You accosted me in front of my servant."

"I'm not hiding, as you can see."

"Good for you; I wish I could say the same. But I am hiding. Not to mention the fact that I was afraid you would not recognize me -- but you did," Caderousse added, with his evil smile. "There! You're a kind fellow."

"So what do you want?"

"You're not polite with me and that's not nice, Benedetto, to an old comrade. Be careful, you may make me very demanding."

"So, your luck's good, is it? Which means it's not some borrowed groom or borrowed tilbury or borrowed clothes that we have here? Fine! So much the better!" Caderousse said, his eyes gleaming with greed.

"Have you found out what you are now?"

"No, but I was brought up in Corsica. You are old and obstinate, I am young and stubborn. It's a bad idea for people like us to threaten one another. We should do business amicably. Is it my fault if luck is still hard on you and has been kind to me?"

At this threat, the young man's anger subsided: a cold breath of coercion had just blown over it. He whipped his horse back to a trot. "It's not nice of you, my friend," he said, "to take that tone with an old comrade, as you say. You are a Marseillais, I'm…"

"You can see that very well and you know it, since you've accosted me," Andrea said, getting more and more excited. "If I had a kerchief like yours on my head, a filthy smock on my back and gaping shoes on my feet, you wouldn't recognize me."

"What an appetite you had! Do you still?"

"He's not a prince, just a count."

"Oh, don't worry! I've got no plans for your count; keep him for yourself. But," Caderousse added, the same unpleasant smile hovering about his lips, "you'll have to pay for it, you know…"

"You must have had a good dinner with that prince you have just left."

"A count? Rich, huh?"

"A hundred and fifty francs, I should be very happy."

"And not very well, as you know. However, with…"

"You see, little one, you do despise me, and you are wrong. Now I've found you, there's no reason why I shouldn't be dressed in fine linen like anyone else, since I know your generosity. If you had two coats, you would give one to me. I gave you my share of soup and beans when you were starving."

"With?"

"Surely," Andrea said with a laugh.

"Yes, but don't rely on him. He looks an awkward customer."

"I think that with a hundred francs a month…"

"On a hundred francs?"

"I could live…"

"That's true," Andrea said.

"Yes?"

"Come on, what do you need?"

"The Count of Monte Cristo."

"Why?"

"In that case, try to find me a post with him as a grandparent, since he's making a business of it."

"Come and see the concierge on the first of every month and you will have the same."

"You will believe in and honour him. That's fair. What's this father's name?"

"Is he happy with you?"

"Good," said Caderousse.

"No, no. Well, I've found my father."

"A real one?"

"Here are two hundred," said Andrea, putting ten gold louis into Caderousse's hand.

"Come, now! You're humiliating me again!"

"Major Cavalcanti."

"There! Hostility again!"

"Very well, ask for me, and on the first of every month, for as long as I am getting my income, you shall have yours."

"Huh! As long as he pays…"

"For the time being, I seem to fit the bill."

"And who found this father for you?"

"Why do you need to know?" Cavalcanti asked.

"You see! I was right, you are a fine lad, and it's a blessing when good fortune comes to those like you. So, tell me all about it."

"This count you've just left?"

"Sending me to deal with the skivvies. No, I want to deal directly with you."

"Yes."

"Just think, little one: here I am with a red kerchief on my head, virtually no shoes, no documents at all and ten gold napoleons in my pocket, quite apart from what was there already, which adds up to a round two hundred francs! They would most certainly arrest me at the gate, and I should be forced, in my own defence, to tell them that you gave me these ten napoleons. Then there'd have to be a statement and an enquiry. They would find that I left Toulon without asking for leave and send me back from one police force to the next down to the shores of the Mediterranean. I should quite simply become, once more, Number one hundred and six -- and goodbye to my dreams of playing the part of a retired baker! No, no, son, I'd rather stay honestly in the capital."

"You're a good lad, to worry about that," said Caderousse.

"What do you mean: not so?"

"Not so, my good friend."

"Yes, you."

"Keep off politics, Caderousse! Now you have what you wanted and we have arrived home, jump down and disappear."

"Me?"

"Listen to Monsieur Bossuet… And what are you going to become: a peer of the realm?"

"Uh, uh!" Andrea said. "Who knows?"

"Perhaps Major Cavalcanti is one. What a shame the hereditary peerage has been abolished."

"Excellent! If you follow that plan sensibly, everything will be fine."

"Since you're taking such an interest in me, I can at least find out something about you myself."

"I'll mention you to him. Meanwhile, what will you do?"

"Very well. I'm going to rent a room in a respectable house, buy myself a decent coat, get a shave every day and go and read the newspaper in a café. In the evenings, I shall go to the theatre with the man who organizes the claque. I'll be taken for a retired baker. That's my dream…"

Andrea raised an eyebrow. As he had boasted himself, this supposed son of Major Cavalcanti was something of a hothead. He paused, cast a rapid glance around him and, as his eyes completed this circular investigation, innocently let his hand go down to his trouser pocket where it began to fondle the stock of a small pistol. However, during this same time, Caderousse, while not taking his eyes off the other man, put his hands behind his back and gently opened a long Spanish knife which he kept there for any eventuality.

These two friends, as one may see, were well suited to understand one another, and did so. Andrea's hand came empty out of his pocket, went up to his moustache, and stroked it a few times. "Very well, Caderousse," he said. "Will you be content?"

"I shall do my best," replied the innkeeper from the Pont du Gard, slipping his knife back into its sheath.

"Come on then, back to Paris. But how will you get through the gates without arousing suspicion? Dressed as you are, I think you're even more likely to do so than if you were on foot."

"What about me?"

They had no trouble getting past the gate. At the first side-road Andrea stopped the carriage, and Caderousse jumped down.

"So," said Andrea, "am I to go bare-headed?"

"Alas, alas!" Andrea said, with a sigh. "One can never be completely happy in this world."

"What's stopping you?" said Caderousse. "Not me, I hope."

"Hush!" said Cavalcanti.

"Surely you wouldn't want me to catch cold?" said Caderousse.

"Come on then, let's get it over."

"Well, then?" said Andrea. "What about my servant's coat and my hat?"

"You're young and I'm starting to grow old. Au revoir, Benedetto!" And he disappeared down the narrow street.

"Pah! In this wind, your hat could easily have blown off."

"Wait. I'll show you." And Caderousse took Andrea's hat and the broad-collared greatcoat that the groom had left behind on his seat when he was sent away from the tilbury; he put them on and adopted the sullen air of a servant in a good household whose master is driving himself.