“Yes,” stammered the old man. 

 “And you paid him out of the two hundred francs I left you?” 

 The old man nodded. 

 “So that you have lived for three months on sixty francs,” muttered Edmond. 

 “You know how little I require,” said the old man. 

 “Heaven pardon me,” cried Edmond, falling on his knees before his father. 

 “What are you doing?” 

 “You have wounded me to the heart.” 

 “Never mind it, for I see you once more,” said the old man; “and now it’s all over—everything is all right again.” 

 “Yes, here I am,” said the young man, “with a promising future and a little money. Here, father, here!” he said, “take this—take it, and send for something immediately.” And he emptied his pockets on the table, the contents consisting of a dozen gold pieces, five or six five-franc pieces, and some smaller coin. The countenance of old Dantès brightened. 

 “Whom does this belong to?” he inquired. 

 “To me, to you, to us! Take it; buy some provisions; be happy, and tomorrow we shall have more.” 

 “Gently, gently,” said the old man, with a smile; “and by your leave I will use your purse moderately, for they would say, if they saw me buy too many things at a time, that I had been obliged to await your return, in order to be able to purchase them.” 

 “Do as you please; but, first of all, pray have a servant, father. I will not have you left alone so long. I have some smuggled coffee and most capital tobacco, in a small chest in the hold, which you shall have tomorrow. But, hush, here comes somebody.” 

 “’Tis Caderousse, who has heard of your arrival, and no doubt comes to congratulate you on your fortunate return.” 

 “Ah, lips that say one thing, while the heart thinks another,” murmured Edmond. “But, never mind, he is a neighbor who has done us a service on a time, so he’s welcome.” 

 As Edmond 

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