“So that he is quite elated about it?” 

 “Why, yes, he is actually insolent over the matter—has already offered me his patronage, as if he were a grand personage, and proffered me a loan of money, as though he were a banker.” 

 “Which you refused?” 

 “Most assuredly; although I might easily have accepted it, for it was I who put into his hands the first silver he ever earned; but now M. Dantès has no longer any occasion for assistance—he is about to become a captain.” 

 “Pooh!” said Danglars, “he is not one yet.” 

 “Ma foi! it will be as well if he is not,” answered Caderousse; “for if he should be, there will be really no speaking to him.” 

 “If we choose,” replied Danglars, “he will remain what he is; and perhaps become even less than he is.” 

 “What do you mean?” 

 “Nothing—I was speaking to myself. And is he still in love with the Catalane?” 

 “Over head and ears; but, unless I am much mistaken, there will be a storm in that quarter.” 

 “Explain yourself.” 

 “Why should I?” 

 “It is more important than you think, perhaps. You do not like Dantès?” 

 “I never like upstarts.” 

 “Then tell me all you know about the Catalane.” 

 “I know nothing for certain; only I have seen things which induce me to believe, as I told you, that the future captain will find some annoyance in the vicinity of the Vieilles Infirmeries.” 

 “What have you seen?—come, tell me!” 

 “Well, every time I have seen Mercédès come into the city she has been accompanied by a tall, strapping, black-eyed Catalan, with a red complexion, brown skin, and fierce air, whom she calls cousin.” 

 “Really; and you think 

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