the house of the Count of Monte-Cristo, no matter how,
no matter when. What was she doing there?"

"Monte-Cristo is married to my mother, Mercedes, and we are living with
him."

"Living with him--Eugenie, my daughter, living beneath the roof of the
man who ruined her father and made him what he is!"

Bouche-de-Miel grew absolutely livid with rage; he was entirely sobered
now and all his evil instincts had full possession of him.

"I will never forgive her--or you!" he hissed.

"Listen to me," said Albert, with comparative calmness. "I have come
here to-night at the risk of my life to offer you money, the means of
rehabilitation. Be advised. Leave these miscreants with whom you are
associated and become a man again!"

"I reject both your offer and advice!" said Bouche-de-Miel, excitedly.
"They are insults, coming as they do from the stepson of Monte-Cristo,
my relentless enemy! But I will have vengeance upon you for them and
through you on Edmond Dantes! Ho, Waldmann Siebecker!"

The two Germans awoke, sprang from their bench and advanced towards the
table.

Mange uttered a groan of despair. He could do nothing now to avert the
impending danger.

Bouche-de-Miel had leaped to his feet and grappled with Albert de
Morcerf. Waldmann and Siebecker, realizing that something was wrong and
at once connecting the alleged Monsieur Fouquier with it, drew long,
keen-bladed knives as they rushed forward.

All the thieves and marauders who were sober enough to stand were now on
their feet, ready to hurl themselves upon the suspected man. Weapons
flashed in every direction--daggers, knives and pistols. Loud oaths and
abusive epithets were heard on all sides; it was a perfect pandemonium,
a babel of evil sounds.

Amid all the confusion and danger Mange's self-possession did not desert
him. Seeing that it was useless to attempt to pacify the surging pack of
desperadoes, he determined upon a bold measure, one that would enable
him to save Captain de Morcerf and, at the same time, keep up his
reputation with the criminal frequenters of the caboulot, with whom he
desired for reasons of his own to be on good terms. He ran to the
counter, where Beurre-Sans-Sel already had her hand on the screw of the
hanging lamp, waiting for events to decide what action she should take.
He leaned over the counter and whispered to the girl:

"Beurre-Sans-Sel, I was deceived in Monsieur Fouquier. He imposed upon
me. He told me he was from Dijon