Maximum-assistance view: every word above everyday vocabulary is explained at every appearance; each name is introduced at its first appearance in the chapter.

Chapter 3. The Catalans (the fishing village of Catalans near Marseilles)

Beyond a bare (uncovered), weather-worn (worn by weather) wall, about a hundred paces (a step's length; speed) from the spot where the two friends sat looking and listening as they drank their wine, was the village of the Catalans. Long ago this mysterious (hidden and unexplained) colony (a settled territory abroad) quitted Spain, and settled (to fix in place; to bring to rest) on the tongue (the mouth's organ; a language) of land on which it is to this day. Whence (from where) it came no one knew, and it spoke an unknown tongue (the mouth's organ; a language). One of its chiefs, who understood Provençal (of Provence in southern France), begged (to ask humbly) the commune (the village community) of Marseilles to give them this bare (uncovered) and barren (bearing nothing) promontory (a bold headland thrust out into the sea), where, like the sailors (a man who works a ship) of old, they had run their boats ashore (on land). The request was granted; and three months afterwards (later), around the twelve (twelve) or fifteen (fifteen) small vessels (a container; a ship) which had brought these gypsies (one of the wandering people famous for song) of the sea, a small village sprang up. This village, constructed (to build) in a singular (strange; one of a kind) and picturesque (striking as a picture) manner, half Moorish, half Spanish, still remains, and is inhabited (to live in) by descendants (one born of a line) of the first comers (comers: those who come), who speak the language of their fathers. For three or four centuries they have remained upon this small promontory (a bold headland thrust out into the sea), on which they had settled (to fix in place; to bring to rest) like a flight of seabirds (sea-bird: a bird of the sea), without mixing with the Marseillaise (the French national song; also a woman of Marseilles) population, intermarrying (marrying between two families or peoples), and preserving (to keep safe) their original customs (settled usage) and the costume (dress; an outfit) of their mother-country (the country one was born in) as they have preserved (to keep safe) its language.

Our readers (one who reads) will follow us along the only street of this little village, and enter with us one of the houses, which is sunburned (the browning of the skin by the sun) to the beautiful dead-leaf (of the colour of a fallen leaf) color peculiar (peculiar: its own; particular — the old sense here) to the buildings of the country, and within coated (covered) with whitewash (whitewashed: painted with white lime), like a Spanish posada (an inn, in Spanish). A young and beautiful girl, with hair as black as jet (a leaping stream of light or water; the deep black stone), her eyes as velvety (soft as velvet) as the gazelle (a small graceful antelope)’s, was leaning (to tilt against; thin) with her back against the wainscot (wooden boards lining the lower part of a wall), rubbing (to press and slide upon) in her slender (gracefully thin) delicately (with fine care) moulded (soil; earth) fingers a bunch of heath (open sandy scrubland) blossoms (a flower; to flower), the flowers of which she was picking off and strewing (scattered over) on the floor; her arms, bare (uncovered) to the elbow (the arm's joint), brown, and modelled after those of the Arlesian (of Arles in southern France) Venus, moved with a kind of restless (unable to rest) impatience (restless eagerness), and she tapped (a light knock) the earth with her arched (curved like an arch) and supple (bending with ease) foot, so as to display the pure and full shape of her well-turned (neatly shaped or neatly said) leg, in its red cotton (the soft plant fiber), gray (the color between black and white) and blue clocked (marked with a pattern at the ankle), stocking (a knitted leg covering). At three paces (a step's length; speed) from her, seated in a chair which he balanced on two legs, leaning (to tilt against; thin) his elbow (the arm's joint) on an old worm-eaten (eaten by woodworm) table, was a tall young man of twenty, or two-and-twenty (twenty-two), who was looking at her with an air in which vexation (annoyance; distress) and uneasiness (uncomfortable worry) were mingled (to mix among). He questioned her with his eyes, but the firm and steady (firm and even) gaze (a long steady look) of the young girl controlled his look.

“You see, Mercédès (the Catalan girl Dantès is to marry),” said the young man, “here is Easter come round again; tell me, is this the moment for a wedding?”

“I have answered you a hundred times, Fernand (the Catalan fisherman who loves Mercédès), and really you must be very stupid to ask me again.”

“Well, repeat (to say or do again) it,—repeat (to say or do again) it, I beg (to ask humbly) of you, that I may at last believe it! Tell me for the hundredth (one part in a hundred) time that you refuse (to say no) my love, which had your mother’s sanction (approval given). Make me understand once for all that you are trifling (a thing of no importance) with my happiness (the state of joy), that my life or death are nothing to you. Ah, to have dreamed for ten years of being your husband, Mercédès, and to lose that hope, which was the only stay of my existence!”

“At least it was not I who ever encouraged (to give heart to) you in that hope, Fernand,” replied Mercédès; “you cannot reproach (to blame with sorrow) me with the slightest (small; to treat as of no account) coquetry (flirting charm). I have always said to you, ‘I love you as a brother; but do not ask from me more than sisterly (like a sister) affection (warm love), for my heart is another’s.’ Is not this true, Fernand?”

“Yes, that is very true, Mercédès,” replied the young man, “Yes, you have been cruelly (with cruelty) frank with me; but do you forget that it is among the Catalans a sacred (holy) law to intermarry (to marry between two families or peoples)?”

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“You mistake, Fernand; it is not a law, but merely (only) a custom (settled usage), and, I pray (to speak to God) of you, do not cite (to name in support) this custom (settled usage) in your favor. You are included in the conscription (forced enlistment; the draft), Fernand, and are only at liberty (freedom) on sufferance (grudging leave), liable (answerable; likely) at any moment to be called upon to take up arms. Once a soldier (a man of the army), what would you do with me, a poor orphan (a child without parents), forlorn (hopeless and sad), without fortune (wealth; luck), with nothing but a half-ruined (partly ruined) hut (a small rough dwelling) and a few ragged (torn and tattered) nets, the miserable (deeply unhappy) inheritance (what is inherited) left by my father to my mother, and by my mother to me? She has been dead a year, and you know, Fernand, I have subsisted (to keep alive on) almost entirely on public charity (giving to those in need). Sometimes you pretend (to make believe) I am useful to you, and that is an excuse to share with me the produce of your fishing (for catching fish), and I accept it, Fernand, because you are the son of my father’s brother, because we were brought up together, and still more because it would give you so much pain if I refuse (to say no). But I feel very deeply (to a great depth) that this fish which I go and sell, and with the produce of which I buy the flax (a plant whose fibre makes linen) I spin (to whirl; to twist thread),—I feel very keenly (sharply), Fernand, that this is charity (giving to those in need).”

“And if it were, Mercédès, poor and lone (alone) as you are, you suit me as well as the daughter of the first shipowner (a man who owns ships) or the richest banker (one who keeps and lends money) of Marseilles! What do such as we desire but a good wife and careful housekeeper (the woman who runs a household), and where can I look for these better than in you?”

“Fernand,” answered Mercédès, shaking (to move quickly to and fro) her head, “a woman becomes a bad manager, and who shall say she will remain an honest woman, when she loves another man better than her husband? Rest content with my friendship (the bond of friends), for I say once more that is all I can promise, and I will promise no more than I can bestow (given as a gift).”

“I understand,” replied Fernand, “you can endure (to bear; to last) your own wretchedness (misery) patiently (with patience), but you are afraid to share mine. Well, Mercédès, beloved (dearly loved) by you, I would tempt (to try to lead into wrong) fortune (wealth; luck); you would bring me good luck, and I should become rich. I could extend (to stretch out) my occupation (one's work; military holding) as a fisherman (one who fishes), might get a place as clerk (a writing officer) in a warehouse (a storehouse of goods), and become in time a dealer (one who deals) myself.”

“You could do no such thing, Fernand; you are a soldier (a man of the army), and if you remain at the Catalans it is because there is no war; so remain a fisherman (one who fishes), and contented with my friendship (the bond of friends), as I cannot give you more.”

“Well, I will do better, Mercédès. I will be a sailor (a man who works a ship); instead of the costume (dress; an outfit) of our fathers, which you despise (to look down on with contempt), I will wear a varnished (covered with a hard shining coat) hat, a striped (banded with color) shirt, and a blue jacket (a short coat), with an anchor (the iron that holds a ship in place) on the buttons. Would not that dress please you?”

“What do you mean?” asked Mercédès, with an angry glance (a quick look),—“what do you mean? I do not understand you?”

“I mean, Mercédès, that you are thus harsh (rough and severe) and cruel (hard-hearted) with me, because you are expecting someone who is thus attired (clothing); but perhaps he whom you await (to wait for) is inconstant (changing; fickle), or if he is not, the sea is so to him.”

“Fernand,” cried Mercédès, “I believed you were good-hearted (kind), and I was mistaken (in error)! Fernand, you are wicked (evil) to call to your aid jealousy (envious fear of a rival) and the anger (hot displeasure) of God! Yes, I will not deny (to say no; refuse) it, I do await (to wait for), and I do love him of whom you speak; and, if he does not return, instead of accusing (to charge with wrongdoing) him of the inconstancy (changeable, unfaithful ways) which you insinuate (insinuating: hinting slyly), I will tell you that he died loving me and me only.” The young girl made a gesture (a meaning movement) of rage (violent anger). “I understand you, Fernand; you would be revenged (repayment of wrong for wrong) on him because I do not love you; you would cross your Catalan (of Catalonia in Spain; also the fishing village near Marseilles) knife (the cutting blade) with his dirk (a long dagger). What end would that answer? To lose you my friendship (the bond of friends) if he were conquered (to overcome by force), and see that friendship (the bond of friends) changed into hate if you were victor (the winner). Believe me, to seek a quarrel (an angry dispute) with a man is a bad method of pleasing the woman who loves that man. No, Fernand, you will not thus give way to evil thoughts. Unable to have me for your wife, you will content yourself with having me for your friend and sister; and besides,” she added, her eyes troubled and moistened (to make wet) with tears (a drop of weeping; to rip), “wait, wait, Fernand; you said just now that the sea was treacherous (not to be trusted; dangerous), and he has been gone four months, and during these four months there have been some terrible storms.”

Fernand made no reply, nor did he attempt to check the tears (a drop of weeping; to rip) which flowed down the cheeks (the side of the face) of Mercédès, although for each of these tears (a drop of weeping; to rip) he would have shed (a rough shelter; to let fall) his heart’s blood; but these tears (a drop of weeping; to rip) flowed for another. He arose (to come up), paced (a step's length; speed) a while up and down the hut (a small rough dwelling), and then, suddenly stopping before Mercédès, with his eyes glowing (a soft warm light) and his hands clenched (closed tight),—“Say, Mercédès,” he said, “once for all, is this your final determination (fixed resolve)?”

“I love Edmond Dantès (the young sailor this story begins with),” the young girl calmly (with calm) replied, “and none but Edmond (the first name of the young sailor this story follows) shall ever be my husband.”

“And you will always love him?”

“As long as I live.”

Fernand let fall his head like a defeated man, heaved (heavens! — a cry of surprise) a sigh (a long sad breath) that was like a groan (to give a deep pained cry), and then suddenly looking her full in the face, with clenched (closed tight) teeth and expanded (to spread out) nostrils (the openings of the nose), said,—“But if he is dead——”

“If he is dead, I shall die too.”

“If he has forgotten you——”

“Mercédès!” called a joyous (full of joy) voice from without,—“Mercédès!”

“Ah,” exclaimed (to cry out) the young girl, blushing (to redden with shame) with delight (great pleasure), and fairly leaping (to jump) in excess (more than enough) of love, “you see he has not forgotten me, for here he is!” And rushing (to move with violent haste) towards the door, she opened it, saying, “Here, Edmond, here I am!”

Fernand, pale (light in color; whitish) and trembling (shaking finely), drew back, like a traveller (one who travels) at the sight of a serpent (a snake), and fell into a chair beside (at the side of) him. Edmond and Mercédès were clasped (to hold tight in the arms) in each other’s arms. The burning Marseilles sun, which shot into the room through the open door, covered them with a flood (an overflowing of water) of light. At first they saw nothing around them. Their intense (at high pitch) happiness (the state of joy) isolated (isolated: set apart alone) them from all the rest of the world, and they only spoke in broken words, which are the tokens (a sign; a keepsake) of a joy so extreme that they seem rather the expression of sorrow (deep sadness). Suddenly Edmond saw the gloomy (dark and heavy of spirit), pale (light in color; whitish), and threatening (to hold out harm) countenance (the face; composure) of Fernand, as it was defined in the shadow (the dark cast shape). By a movement for which he could scarcely (hardly) account to himself, the young Catalan placed his hand on the knife (the cutting blade) at his belt (a waist band).

“Ah, your pardon (to let off a punishment),” said Dantès (the young sailor this story follows), frowning (to draw the brows in displeasure) in his turn; “I did not perceive (to see and grasp) that there were three of us.” Then, turning to Mercédès, he inquired (to ask), “Who is this gentleman (a man of good birth and manners)?”

“One who will be your best friend, Dantès, for he is my friend, my cousin (an uncle's or aunt's child), my brother; it is Fernand—the man whom, after you, Edmond, I love the best in the world. Do you not remember him?”

“Yes!” said Dantès, and without relinquishing (to give up) Mercédès’ hand clasped (to hold tight in the arms) in one of his own, he extended (to stretch out) the other to the Catalan with a cordial (warmly friendly) air. But Fernand, instead of responding to this amiable (friendly and pleasant) gesture (a meaning movement), remained mute (silent; unable to speak) and trembling (shaking finely). Edmond then cast his eyes scrutinizingly (examining closely) at the agitated (stirred up; troubled) and embarrassed (awkwardly ashamed) Mercédès, and then again on the gloomy (dark and heavy of spirit) and menacing (threatening) Fernand. This look told him all, and his anger (hot displeasure) waxed (the candle substance; to grow) hot.

“I did not know, when I came with such haste (hurry) to you, that I was to meet an enemy here.”

“An enemy!” cried Mercédès, with an angry look at her cousin (an uncle's or aunt's child). “An enemy in my house, do you say, Edmond! If I believed that, I would place my arm under yours and go with you to Marseilles, leaving the house to return to it no more.”

Fernand’s eye darted (to shoot swiftly) lightning (the sky's flash). “And should any misfortune (bad fortune) occur (to happen) to you, dear Edmond,” she continued with the same calmness (quiet calm) which proved to Fernand that the young girl had read the very innermost (deepest inside) depths of his sinister (threatening evil) thought, “if misfortune (bad fortune) should occur (to happen) to you, I would ascend (to climb up) the highest point of the Cape de Morgiou (a creek near Marseilles) and cast myself headlong (rushing head first) from it.”

Fernand became deadly (bringing death) pale (light in color; whitish). “But you are deceived (to trick; to mislead), Edmond,” she continued. “You have no enemy here—there is no one but Fernand, my brother, who will grasp (to seize; to understand) your hand as a devoted (given wholly in love) friend.”

And at these words the young girl fixed her imperious (commanding) look on the Catalan, who, as if fascinated (to charm and hold) by it, came slowly towards Edmond, and offered him his hand. His hatred (deep hate), like a powerless (without power) though furious (raging) wave, was broken against the strong ascendancy (controlling power) which Mercédès exercised over him. Scarcely (hardly), however, had he touched Edmond’s hand when he felt he had done all he could do, and rushed (to move with violent haste) hastily (in a hurry) out of the house.

“Oh,” he exclaimed (to cry out), running furiously (with raging fury) and tearing (a drop of weeping; to rip) his hair—“Oh, who will deliver me from this man? Wretched (miserable)—wretched (miserable) that I am!”

“Hallo (hello), Catalan! Hallo (hello), Fernand! where are you running to?” exclaimed (to cry out) a voice.

The young man stopped suddenly, looked around him, and perceived (to see and grasp) Caderousse (a tailor of Marseilles, neighbour to the Dantès family) sitting at table with Danglars (the shipowner's clerk, later a rich banker), under an arbor (arbors: shaded garden walks).

“Well”, said Caderousse, “why don’t you come? Are you really in such a hurry (to move with haste) that you have no time to pass the time of day with your friends?”

“Particularly when they have still a full bottle before them,” added Danglars. Fernand looked at them both with a stupefied (dazed) air, but did not say a word.

“He seems besotted (besotted: made foolish),” said Danglars, pushing Caderousse with his knee (the leg's middle joint). “Are we mistaken (in error), and is Dantès triumphant (full of victory) in spite (ill will) of all we have believed?”

“Why, we must inquire (to ask) into that,” was Caderousse’s reply; and turning towards the young man, said, “Well, Catalan, can’t you make up your mind?”

Fernand wiped (to rub clean) away the perspiration (sweat) steaming from his brow (the forehead), and slowly entered the arbor (arbors: shaded garden walks), whose shade (shadowed cool; a degree of color) seemed to restore (to bring back) somewhat of calmness (quiet calm) to his senses (the body's five ways of knowing; good judgment), and whose coolness (calm lack of feeling) somewhat of refreshment (food and drink to restore) to his exhausted (worn out) body.

“Good-day (a greeting on meeting or parting),” said he. “You called me, didn (did — didn't: did not)’t you?” And he fell, rather than sat down, on one of the seats which surrounded (to close in on every side) the table.

“I called you because you were running like a madman (a man out of his mind), and I was afraid you would throw yourself into the sea,” said Caderousse, laughing. “Why, when a man has friends, they are not only to offer him a glass of wine, but, moreover (besides), to prevent his swallowing (taking down the throat) three or four pints (a measure of drink) of water unnecessarily (without need)!”

Fernand gave a groan (to give a deep pained cry), which resembled (to be like) a sob (to weep in catching breaths), and dropped his head into his hands, his elbows (the arm's joint) leaning (to tilt against; thin) on the table.

“Well, Fernand, I must say,” said Caderousse, beginning the conversation, with that brutality (cruelty) of the common people in which curiosity (eagerness to know) destroys all diplomacy (the art of dealings between states), “you look uncommonly (unusually) like a rejected (to cast aside) lover (one who loves);” and he burst (to break open suddenly) into a hoarse (rough and husky of voice) laugh.

“Bah!” said Danglars, “a lad (a boy) of his make was not born to be unhappy (not happy) in love. You are laughing at him, Caderousse.”

“No,” he replied, “only hark (listen) how he sighs (a long sad breath)! Come, come, Fernand,” said Caderousse, “hold up your head, and answer us. It’s not polite (well-mannered) not to reply to friends who ask news of your health.”

“My health is well enough,” said Fernand, clenching (to close tight) his hands without raising his head.

“Ah, you see, Danglars,” said Caderousse, winking (to close one eye quickly) at his friend, “this is how it is; Fernand, whom you see here, is a good and brave (full of courage) Catalan, one of the best fishermen (one who fishes) in Marseilles, and he is in love with a very fine girl, named Mercédès; but it appears, unfortunately, that the fine girl is in love with the mate of the Pharaon (the name of Morrel's ship); and as the Pharaon arrived today—why, you understand!”

“No; I do not understand,” said Danglars.

“Poor Fernand has been dismissed (to send away),” continued Caderousse.

“Well, and what then?” said Fernand, lifting up his head, and looking at Caderousse like a man who looks for someone on whom to vent (an air opening; to let out) his anger (hot displeasure); “Mercédès is not accountable (having to answer for what is done) to any person, is she? Is she not free to love whomsoever (whoever — the old form) she will?”

“Oh, if you take it in that sense,” said Caderousse, “it is another thing. But I thought you were a Catalan, and they told me the Catalans were not men to allow themselves to be supplanted (to take the place of) by a rival (one striving for the same prize). It was even told me that Fernand, especially, was terrible in his vengeance (revenge).”

Fernand smiled piteously (in a way that calls for pity). “A lover (one who loves) is never terrible,” he said.

“Poor fellow!” remarked (to say; to notice) Danglars, affecting to pity (sorrow for another's pain) the young man from the bottom of his heart. “Why, you see, he did not expect to see Dantès return so suddenly—he thought he was dead, perhaps; or perchance (perhaps — an old word) faithless (without faith)! These things always come on us more severely (with hard strictness) when they come suddenly.”

“Ah, ma foi (a small weakness), under any circumstances!” said Caderousse, who drank as he spoke, and on whom the fumes (smoke or vapour) of the wine began to take effect,—“under any circumstances Fernand is not the only person put out by the fortunate (favored by fortune) arrival (a coming) of Dantès; is he, Danglars?”

“No, you are right—and I should say that would bring him ill-luck (bad fortune).”

“Well, never mind,” answered Caderousse, pouring (to flow in a stream) out a glass of wine for Fernand, and filling his own for the eighth (the 8th) or ninth (the 9th) time, while Danglars had merely (only) sipped (a small drink) his. “Never mind—in the meantime (the time between) he marries (to take as husband or wife) Mercédès—the lovely Mercédès—at least he returns to do that.”

During this time Danglars fixed his piercing (to stab through) glance (a quick look) on the young man, on whose heart Caderousse’s words fell like molten (melted) lead.

“And when is the wedding to be?” he asked.

“Oh, it is not yet fixed!” murmured (to speak in a low soft flow) Fernand.

“No, but it will be,” said Caderousse, “as surely as Dantès will be captain of the Pharaon—eh, Danglars?”

Danglars shuddered (a shiver of horror) at this unexpected (not looked for) attack, and turned to Caderousse, whose countenance (the face; composure) he scrutinized (to examine closely), to try and detect (to find out) whether the blow was premeditated (to think out beforehand); but he read nothing but envy (pain at another's good) in a countenance (the face; composure) already rendered (to give; to make) brutal (cruel and rough) and stupid by drunkenness (being drunk).

“Well,” said he, filling the glasses, “let us drink to Captain Edmond Dantès, husband of the beautiful Catalane (a woman of the Catalan village near Marseilles)!”

Caderousse raised his glass to his mouth with unsteady (not steady) hand, and swallowed (to take down the throat; the swift bird) the contents at a gulp (one big swallow). Fernand dashed (a swift rush) his on the ground.

“Eh, eh, eh!” stammered (to speak with halting breaks) Caderousse. “What do I see down there by the wall, in the direction of the Catalans? Look, Fernand, your eyes are better than mine. I believe I see double. You know wine is a deceiver (one who deceives); but I should say it was two lovers (one who loves) walking side by side, and hand in hand. Heaven forgive (to stop holding a wrong against someone) me, they do not know that we can see them, and they are actually embracing (to hold in the arms)!”

Danglars did not lose one pang (a sharp stab of pain) that Fernand endured (to bear; to last).

“Do you know them, Fernand?” he said.

“Yes,” was the reply, in a low voice. “It is Edmond and Mercédès!”

“Ah, see there, now!” said Caderousse; “and I did not recognize them! Hallo (hello), Dantès! hello, lovely damsel (a young lady)! Come this way, and let us know when the wedding is to be, for Fernand here is so obstinate (stubborn) he will not tell us.”

“Hold your tongue (the mouth's organ; a language), will you?” said Danglars, pretending (to make believe) to restrain (to hold back) Caderousse, who, with the tenacity (a hard grip that will not let go) of drunkards (one always drunk), leaned (to tilt against; thin) out of the arbor (arbors: shaded garden walks). “Try to stand upright (standing straight; honest), and let the lovers (one who loves) make love without interruption (a breaking in). See, look at Fernand, and follow his example; he is well-behaved (behaving well)!”

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Fernand, probably excited beyond bearing, pricked (to pierce lightly; to raise the ears) by Danglars, as the bull (the male ox) is by the bandilleros (a man who plants darts in the bull at a bullfight), was about to rush (to move with violent haste) out; for he had risen from his seat, and seemed to be collecting (to gather) himself to dash (a swift rush) headlong (rushing head first) upon his rival (one striving for the same prize), when Mercédès, smiling and graceful (full of easy grace), lifted up her lovely head, and looked at them with her clear and bright eyes. At this Fernand recollected (to call back to mind) her threat of dying if Edmond died, and dropped again heavily on his seat. Danglars looked at the two men, one after the other, the one brutalized (to make cruel and beastlike) by liquor (a liquid; strong drink), the other overwhelmed (buried under; overcome) with love.

“I shall get nothing from these fools (one without sense),” he muttered (to speak low in the throat); “and I am very much afraid of being here between a drunkard (one always drunk) and a coward (one without courage). Here’s an envious (full of envy) fellow making himself boozy (dull and heavy with drink) on wine when he ought (should) to be nursing (one who tends the sick; to feed at the breast) his wrath (fierce anger), and here is a fool (one without sense) who sees the woman he loves stolen (to take by theft) from under his nose and takes on like a big baby. Yet this Catalan has eyes that glisten (to shine wetly) like those of the vengeful (seeking revenge) Spaniards, Sicilians (the people of Sicily), and Calabrians (the people of southern Italy), and the other has fists (the closed hand) big enough to crush (to press to pieces) an ox at one blow. Unquestionably (beyond question), Edmond’s star is in the ascendant (rising in power), and he will marry (to take as husband or wife) the splendid (grand and shining) girl—he will be captain, too, and laugh at us all, unless”—a sinister (threatening evil) smile passed over Danglars’ lips (the edges of the mouth)—“unless I take a hand in the affair (a matter or piece of business),” he added.

“Hallo (hello)!” continued Caderousse, half-rising (rising part way), and with his fist (the closed hand) on the table, “hallo (hello), Edmond! do you not see your friends, or are you too proud to speak to them?”

“No, my dear fellow!” replied Dantès, “I am not proud, but I am happy, and happiness (the state of joy) blinds, I think, more than pride (high self-regard).”

“Ah, very well, that’s an explanation (a making clear)!” said Caderousse. “How do you do, Madame Dantès?”

Mercédès courtesied (courtesied: made the little bending bow of a lady) gravely (with deep seriousness), and said—“That is not my name, and in my country it bodes (to be a sign of what is coming) ill fortune (wealth; luck), they say, to call a young girl by the name of her betrothed (promised in marriage) before he becomes her husband. So call me Mercédès, if you please.”

“We must excuse our worthy (deserving) neighbor (one who lives near), Caderousse,” said Dantès, “he is so easily mistaken (in error).”

“So, then, the wedding is to take place immediately, M. Dantès,” said Danglars, bowing (to bend in respect; a ribbon knot) to the young couple.

“As soon as possible, M. Danglars; today all preliminaries (coming before the main matter) will be arranged (to set in order) at my father’s, and tomorrow, or next day at latest, the wedding festival here at La Réserve (a tavern near Marseilles). My friends will be there, I hope; that is to say, you are invited, M. Danglars, and you, Caderousse.”

“And Fernand,” said Caderousse with a chuckle (a quiet laugh); “Fernand, too, is invited!”

“My wife’s brother is my brother,” said Edmond; “and we, Mercédès and I, should be very sorry if he were absent (away; not present) at such a time.”

Fernand opened his mouth to reply, but his voice died on his lips (the edges of the mouth), and he could not utter (complete; to speak) a word.

“Today the preliminaries (coming before the main matter), tomorrow or next day the ceremony (a formal rite)! You are in a hurry (to move with haste), captain!”

“Danglars,” said Edmond, smiling, “I will say to you as Mercédès said just now to Caderousse, ‘Do not give me a title which does not belong (to be one's own; to be part of) to me’; that may bring me bad luck.”

“Your pardon (to let off a punishment),” replied Danglars, “I merely (only) said you seemed in a hurry (to move with haste), and we have lots of time; the Pharaon cannot be under weigh (to measure heaviness) again in less than three months.”

“We are always in a hurry (to move with haste) to be happy, M. Danglars; for when we have suffered a long time, we have great difficulty (hardness; trouble) in believing in good fortune (wealth; luck). But it is not selfishness (care only for oneself) alone that makes me thus in haste (hurry); I must go to Paris.”

“Ah, really?—to Paris! and will it be the first time you have ever been there, Dantès?”

“Yes.”

“Have you business there?”

“Not of my own; the last commission of poor Captain Leclere (the captain of the Pharaon at the start of this story); you know to what I allude (to hint at), Danglars—it is sacred (holy). Besides, I shall only take the time to go and return.”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” said Danglars, and then in a low tone (a sound's quality; a manner), he added, “To Paris, no doubt to deliver the letter which the grand marshal (the highest army rank; to order) gave him. Ah, this letter gives me an idea—a capital idea! Ah; Dantès, my friend, you are not yet registered number one on board the good ship Pharaon;” then turning towards Edmond, who was walking away, “A pleasant (pleasing) journey,” he cried.

“Thank you,” said Edmond with a friendly nod (to bow the head slightly), and the two lovers (one who loves) continued on their way, as calm and joyous (full of joy) as if they were the very elect (the chosen few) of heaven.