ct for my own account, adieu, my dear friend, get out of the
affair as best you may;" and Danglars rose as if he meant to depart.

"No, no," said Fernand, restraining him, "stay! It is of very little
consequence to me at the end of the matter whether you have any angry
feeling or not against Dantes. I hate him! I confess it openly. Do you
find the means, I will execute it, provided it is not to kill the man,
for Mercedes has declared she will kill herself if Dantes is killed."

Caderousse, who had let his head drop on the table, now raised it, and
looking at Fernand with his dull and fishy eyes, he said,--"Kill Dantes!
who talks of killing Dantes? I won't have him killed--I won't! He's my
friend, and this morning offered to share his money with me, as I shared
mine with him. I won't have Dantes killed--I won't!"

"And who has said a word about killing him, muddlehead?" replied
Danglars. "We were merely joking; drink to his health," he added,
filling Caderousse's glass, "and do not interfere with us."

"Yes, yes, Dantes' good health!" said Caderousse, emptying his glass,
"here's to his health! his health--hurrah!"

"But the means--the means?" said Fernand.

"Have you not hit upon any?" asked Danglars.

"No!--you undertook to do so."

"True," replied Danglars; "the French have the superiority over the
Spaniards, that the Spaniards ruminate, while the French invent."

"Do you invent, then," said Fernand impatiently.

"Waiter," said Danglars, "pen, ink, and paper."

"Pen, ink, and paper," muttered Fernand.

"Yes; I am a supercargo; pen, ink, and paper are my tools, and without
my tools I am fit for nothing."

"Pen, ink, and paper, then," called Fernand loudly.

"There's what you want on that table," said the waiter.

"Bring them here." The waiter did as he was desired.

"When one thinks," said Caderousse, letting his hand drop on the paper,
"there is here wherewithal to kill a man more sure than if we waited at
the corner of a wood to assassinate him! I have always had more dread
of a pen, a bottle of ink, and a sheet of paper, than of a sword or
pistol."

"The fellow is not so drunk as he appears to be," said Danglars. "Give
him some more wine, Fernand." Fernand filled Caderousse's glass, who,
like the confirmed toper he was, lifted his hand from the paper and
seized the glass.

The Catalan watched him until Caderousse, almost overcome by this fresh
assault on his senses, rested, or rather dropped, his