coming alongside.” And the young man went to the gangway. As he departed, Danglars approached, and said,— 

 “Well, it appears that he has given you satisfactory reasons for his landing at Porto-Ferrajo?” 

 “Yes, most satisfactory, my dear Danglars.” 

 “Well, so much the better,” said the supercargo; “for it is not pleasant to think that a comrade has not done his duty.” 

 “Dantès has done his,” replied the owner, “and that is not saying much. It was Captain Leclere who gave orders for this delay.” 

 “Talking of Captain Leclere, has not Dantès given you a letter from him?” 

 “To me?—no—was there one?” 

 “I believe that, besides the packet, Captain Leclere confided a letter to his care.” 

 “Of what packet are you speaking, Danglars?” 

 “Why, that which Dantès left at Porto-Ferrajo.” 

 “How do you know he had a packet to leave at Porto-Ferrajo?” 

 Danglars turned very red. 

 “I was passing close to the door of the captain’s cabin, which was half open, and I saw him give the packet and letter to Dantès.” 

 “He did not speak to me of it,” replied the shipowner; “but if there be any letter he will give it to me.” 

 Danglars reflected for a moment. “Then, M. Morrel, I beg of you,” said he, “not to say a word to Dantès on the subject. I may have been mistaken.” 

 At this moment the young man returned; Danglars withdrew. 

 “Well, my dear Dantès, are you now free?” inquired the owner. 

 “Yes, sir.” 

 “You have not been long detained.” 

 “No. I gave the custom-house officers a copy of our bill of lading; and as to the other papers, they sent a man off with the pilot, to whom I gave them.” 

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