"Oh!" said Caderousse, groaning with pain.
"Take this pen and paper, and write what I dictate."
"I don't know how to write, M. l'Abbé."
"You lie! Take this pen, and write!"
Caderousse, awed by the superior power of the abbé, sat down and wrote:
"Sir:—The man whom you are receiving at your house, and to whom you intend to marry your daughter, is a felon who escaped with me from confinement at Toulon. He was No. 59, and I No. 58. He was called Benedetto; but he is ignorant of his real name, having never known his parents."
"Sign it!" continued the count.
"But would you ruin me?"
"If I sought your ruin, fool, I should drag you to the first guard house; besides, when that note is delivered, in all probability you will have no more to fear. Sign it, then!"
Caderousse signed it.
"The address, 'A Monsieur le Baron Danglars, banker, Rue de la Chaussée d'Antin.'"
Caderousse wrote the address. The abbé took the note.
"Now," said he, "that suffices—begone!"
"Which way?"
"The way you came."
"You wish me to get out at that window?"
"You got in very well."
"Oh! you have some design against me, M. l'Abbé."
"Idiot! what design can I have?"
"Why, then, not let me out by the door?"
"What would be the advantage of waking the porter?"
"M. l'Abbé, tell me, do you not wish me dead?"
"I wish what God wills."
"But swear that you will not strike me as I go down."
"Cowardly fool!"
"What do you intend doing with me?"
"I ask you what can I do I I have tried to make you a happy man, and you have turned out a murderer."
"M. l'Abbé," said Caderousse, "make one more attempt—try me once more!"
"I will," said the count. "Listen—you know if I may be relied on."
"Yes," said Caderousse.
"If you arrive safely at home"
"What have I to fear, except from you?"
