ONE DIVISION of La Force, in which the most dangerous and desperate prisoners are confined, is called the court of Saint-Bernard. The prisoners, in their expressive language, have named it the "Lions' Den," probably because the captives possess teeth which frequently gnaw the bars, and sometimes the keepers also. It is a prison within a prison; the walls are double the thickness of the rest. The gratings are every day carefully examined by jailers, whose herculean proportions and cold pitiless expression prove them to have been chosen to reign over their subjects for their superior activity and intelligence. The court-yard of this quarter is enclosed by enormous walls, over which the sun glances obliquely, when it deigns to penetrate into this gulf of moral and physical deformity. On this paved yard are to be seen,--pacing to and fro from morning till night, pale, careworn, and haggard, like so many shadows,--the men whom justice holds beneath the steel she is sharpening. There, crouched against the side of the wall which attracts and retains the most heat, they may be seen sometimes talking to one another, but more frequently alone, watching the door, which sometimes opens to call forth one from the gloomy assemblage, or to throw in another outcast from society.
The court of Saint-Bernard has its own particular apartment for the reception of guests; it is a long rectangle, divided by two upright gratings placed at a distance of three feet from one another to prevent a visitor from shaking hands with or passing anything to the prisoners. It is a wretched, damp, nay, even horrible spot, more especially when we consider the agonizing conferences which have taken place between those iron bars. And yet, frightful though this spot may be, it is looked upon as a kind of paradise by the men whose days are numbered; it is so rare for them to leave the Lions' Den for any other place than the barrier Saint-Jacques or the galleys！
In the court which we have attempted to describe, and from which a damp vapor was rising, a young man with his hands in his pockets, who had excited much curiosity among the inhabitants of the "Den," might be seen walking. The cut of his clothes would have made him pass for an elegant man, if those clothes had not been torn to shreds; still they did not show signs of wear, and the fine cloth, beneath the careful hands of the prisoner, soon recovered its gloss in the parts which were still perfect, for the wearer tried his best to make it assume the appearance of a new coat. He bestowed the same attention upon the cambric front of a shirt, which had considerably changed in color since his entrance into the prison, and he polished his varnished boots with the corner of a handkerchief embroidered with initials surmounted by a coronet. Some of the inmates of the "Lions' Den" were watching the operations of the prisoner's toilet with considerable interest. "See, the prince is pluming himself," said one of the thieves. "He's a fine looking fellow," said another; "if he had only a comb and hair-grease, he'd take the shine off the gentlemen in white kids."
"His coat looks almost new, and his boots shine like a nigger's face. It's pleasant to have such well-dressed comrades; but didn't those gendarmes behave shameful?--must 'a been jealous, to tear such clothes！"
"He looks like a big-bug," said another; "dresses in fine style. And, then, to be here so young！ Oh, what larks！" Meanwhile the object of this hideous admiration approached the wicket, against which one of the keepers was leaning. "Come, sir," he said, "lend me twenty francs; you will soon be paid; you run no risks with me. Remember, I have relations who possess more millions than you have deniers. Come, I beseech you, lend me twenty francs, so that I may buy a dressing-gown; it is intolerable always to be in a coat and boots！ And what a coat, sir, for a prince of the Cavalcanti！" The keeper turned his back, and shrugged his shoulders; he did not even laugh at what would have caused any one else to do so; he had heard so many utter the same things,--indeed, he heard nothing else.
"Come," said Andrea, "you are a man void of compassion; I'll have you turned out." This made the keeper turn around, and he burst into a loud laugh. The prisoners then approached and formed a circle. "I tell you that with that wretched sum," continued Andrea, "I could obtain a coat, and a room in which to receive the illustrious visitor I am daily expecting."
"Of course--of course," said the prisoners;--"any one can see he's a gentleman！"
"Well, then, lend him the twenty francs," said the keeper, leaning on the other shoulder; "surely you will not refuse a comrade！"
"I am no comrade of these people," said the young man, proudly, "you have no right to insult me thus."
The thieves looked at one another with low murmurs, and a storm gathered over the head of the aristocratic prisoner, raised less by his own words than by the manner of the keeper. The latter, sure of quelling the tempest when the waves became too violent, allowed them to rise to a certain pitch that he might be revenged on the importunate Andrea, and besides it would afford him some recreation during the long day. The thieves had already approached Andrea, some screaming, "La savate--La savate！" a cruel operation, which consists in cuffing a comrade who may have fallen into disgrace, not with an old shoe, but with an iron-heeled one. Others proposed the anguille, another kind of recreation, in which a handkerchief is filled with sand, pebbles, and two-sous pieces, when they have them, which the wretches beat like a flail over the head and shoulders of the unhappy sufferer. "Let us horsewhip the fine gentleman！" said others.
But Andrea, turning towards them, winked his eyes, rolled his tongue around his cheeks, and smacked his lips in a manner equivalent to a hundred words among the bandits when forced to be silent. It was a Masonic sign Caderousse had taught him. He was immediately recognized as one of them; the handkerchief was thrown down, and the iron-heeled shoe replaced on the foot of the wretch to whom it belonged. Some voices were heard to say that the gentleman was right; that he intended to be civil, in his way, and that they would set the example of liberty of conscience,--and the mob retired. The keeper was so stupefied at this scene that he took Andrea by the hands and began examining his person, attributing the sudden submission of the inmates of the Lions' Den to something more substantial than mere fascination. Andrea made no resistance, although he protested against it. Suddenly a voice was heard at the wicket. "Benedetto！" exclaimed an inspector. The keeper relaxed his hold. "I am called," said Andrea. "To the visitors' room！" said the same voice.
"You see some one pays me a visit. Ah, my dear sir, you will see whether a Cavalcanti is to be treated like a common person！" And Andrea, gliding through the court like a black shadow, rushed out through the wicket, leaving his comrades, and even the keeper, lost in wonder. Certainly a call to the visitors' room had scarcely astonished Andrea less than themselves, for the wily youth, instead of making use of his privilege of waiting to be claimed on his entry into La Force, had maintained a rigid silence.
"Everything," he said, "proves me to be under the protection of some powerful person,--this sudden fortune, the facility with which I have overcome all obstacles, an unexpected family and an illustrious name awarded to me, gold showered down upon me, and the most splendid alliances about to be entered into. An unhappy lapse of fortune and the absence of my protector have cast me down, certainly, but not forever. The hand which has retreated for a while will be again stretched forth to save me at the very moment when I shall think myself sinking into the abyss. Why should I risk an imprudent step? It might alienate my protector. He has two means of extricating me from this dilemma,--the one by a mysterious escape, managed through bribery; the other by buying off my judges with gold. I will say and do nothing until I am convinced that he has quite abandoned me, and then"--
Andrea had formed a plan which was tolerably clever. The unfortunate youth was intrepid in the attack, and rude in the defence. He had borne with the public prison, and with privations of all sorts; still, by degrees nature, or rather custom, had prevailed, and he suffered from being naked, dirty, and hungry. It was at this moment of discomfort that the inspector's voice called him to the visiting-room. Andrea felt his heart leap with joy. It was too soon for a visit from the examining magistrate, and too late for one from the director of the prison, or the doctor; it must, then, be the visitor he hoped for. Behind the grating of the room into which Andrea had been led, he saw, while his eyes dilated with surprise, the dark and intelligent face of M. Bertuccio, who was also gazing with sad astonishment upon the iron bars, the bolted doors, and the shadow which moved behind the other grating.
"Ah," said Andrea, deeply affected.
"Good morning, Benedetto," said Bertuccio, with his deep, hollow voice.
"You--you?" said the young man, looking fearfully around him.
"Do you not recognize me, unhappy child?"
"Silence,--be silent！" said Andrea, who knew the delicate sense of hearing possessed by the walls; "for heaven's sake, do not speak so loud！"
"You wish to speak with me alone, do you not?" said Bertuccio.
"Oh, yes."
"That is well." And Bertuccio, feeling in his pocket, signed to a keeper whom he saw through the window of the wicket.
"Read?" he said.
"What is that?" asked Andrea.
"An order to conduct you to a room, and to leave you there to talk to me."
"Oh," cried Andrea, leaping with joy. Then he mentally added,--"Still my unknown protector！ I am not forgotten. They wish for secrecy, since we are to converse in a private room. I understand, Bertuccio has been sent by my protector."
The keeper spoke for a moment with an official, then opened the iron gates and conducted Andrea to a room on the first floor. The room was whitewashed, as is the custom in prisons, but it looked quite brilliant to a prisoner, though a stove, a bed, a chair, and a table formed the whole of its sumptuous furniture. Bertuccio sat down upon the chair, Andrea threw himself upon the bed; the keeper retired.
"Now," said the steward, "what have you to tell me?"
"And you?" said Andrea.
"You speak first."
"Oh, no. You must have much to tell me, since you have come to seek me."
"Well, be it so. You have continued your course of villany; you have robbed--you have assassinated."
"Well, I should say！ If you had me taken to a private room only to tell me this, you might have saved yourself the trouble. I know all these things. But there are some with which, on the contrary, I am not acquainted. Let us talk of those, if you please. Who sent you?"
"Come, come, you are going on quickly, M. Benedetto！"
"Yes, and to the point. Let us dispense with useless words. Who sends you?"
"No one."
"How did you know I was in prison?"
"I recognized you, some time since, as the insolent dandy who so gracefully mounted his horse in the Champs Elysées."
"Oh, the Champs Elysées? Ah, yes; we burn, as they say at the game of pincette. The Champs Elysées? Come, let us talk a little about my father."
"Who, then, am I?"
"You, sir?--you are my adopted father. But it was not you, I presume, who placed at my disposal 100,000 francs, which I spent in four or five months; it was not you who manufactured an Italian gentleman for my father; it was not you who introduced me into the world, and had me invited to a certain dinner at Auteuil, which I fancy I am eating at this moment, in company with the most distinguished people in Paris--amongst the rest with a certain procureur, whose acquaintance I did very wrong not to cultivate, for he would have been very useful to me just now;--it was not you, in fact, who bailed me for one or two millions, when the fatal discovery of my little secret took place. Come, speak, my worthy Corsican, speak！"
"What do you wish me to say?"
"I will help you. You were speaking of the Champs Elysées just now, worthy foster-father."
"Well?"
"Well, in the Champs Elysées there resides a very rich gentleman."
"At whose house you robbed and murdered, did you not?"
"I believe I did."
"The Count of Monte Cristo?"
"'Tis you who have named him, as M. Racine says. Well, am I to rush into his arms, and strain him to my heart, crying, 'My father, my father！' like Monsieur Pixerecourt."*
"Do not let us jest," gravely replied Bertuccio, "and dare not to utter that name again as you have pronounced it."
* Guilbert de Pixerecourt, French dramatist （1775-1844）。
"Bah," said Andrea, a little overcome, by the solemnity of Bertuccio's manner, "why not?"
"Because the person who bears it is too highly favored by heaven to be the father of such a wretch as you."
"Oh, these are fine words."
"And there will be fine doings, if you do not take care."
"Menaces--I do not fear them. I will say"--
"Do you think you are engaged with a pygmy like yourself?" said Bertuccio, in so calm a tone, and with so steadfast a look, that Andrea was moved to the very soul. "Do you think you have to do with galley-slaves, or novices in the world? Benedetto, you are fallen into terrible hands; they are ready to open for you--make use of them. Do not play with the thunderbolt they have laid aside for a moment, but which they can take up again instantly, if you attempt to intercept their movements."
"My father--I will know who my father is," said the obstinate youth; "I will perish if I must, but I will know it. What does scandal signify to me? What possessions, what reputation, what 'pull,' as Beauchamp says,--have I? You great people always lose something by scandal, notwithstanding your millions. Come, who is my father?"
"I came to tell you."
"Ah," cried Benedetto, his eyes sparkling with joy. Just then the door opened, and the jailer, addressing himself to Bertuccio, said,--"Excuse me, sir, but the examining magistrate is waiting for the prisoner."
"And so closes our interview," said Andrea to the worthy steward; "I wish the troublesome fellow were at the devil！"
"I will return to-morrow," said Bertuccio.
"Good！ Gendarmes, I am at your service. Ah, sir, do leave a few crowns for me at the gate that I may have some things I am in need of！"
"It shall be done," replied Bertuccio. Andrea extended his hand; Bertuccio kept his own in his pocket, and merely jingled a few pieces of money. "That's what I mean," said Andrea, endeavoring to smile, quite overcome by the strange tranquillity of Bertuccio. "Can I be deceived?" he murmured, as he stepped into the oblong and grated vehicle which they call "the salad basket." "Never mind, we shall see！ To-morrow, then！" he added, turning towards Bertuccio.
"To-morrow！" replied the steward.
在福斯监里，有一个专门关押危险而凶横的犯人牢区，圣·伯纳院，但犯人们按他们的行动称为“狮穴”，那大概是因为里面的罪犯常用牙齿去咬铁栅，甚至有时也咬看守的缘故。这是一个监 里面的监 。墙壁比别处的要厚一倍。铁棚每天都由座小心地加以检查，这些卒是特选出来的，从他们魁伟的身体和冷酷的表情上，可以看出他们是善于用恐怖和机警来统治囚徒的。这牢区的院子四面都是极高的墙头，太阳只有在当空的那一刻才能照到院子里，象是太阳也不愿意多看这一群精神和肉体的怪物似的。在铺着石板的院子里，从早到晚踱着一群脸色苍白、忧虑满面、外貌凶残正在遭受法律惩罚的人，象是许多憧憬未来的幽灵一样。
在那吸收并保留了一些阳光余热的墙脚下，可以看见两三个囚犯蜷缩着在聊天——但更常见的是一个人蹲在那儿——眼睛望着铁门，那扇门有时也打开，从这悲惨的人群里唤一个出去，或是又抛进一个社会的渣滓来。
圣· 伯纳院有专门的会见室，那是一个长方形的房间，两道笔直的栅栏，栅栏之间相距三尺，以防止探监的人和犯人握手或递东西给犯人。这是一个阴森、潮湿，甚至是令人恐怖的地方，尤其是想到这两道铁栅之间那种可怕的谈话的时候。可是，这个地方虽然可怕，但在那些数着时间过日子的人看来，却象是一个天堂，他们一旦离开狮穴，大多被送到圣·杰克司城栅［巴黎枪决死刑犯的地方。——译注］或苦工船或中隔离室去。
在这部分牢区里，散发着寒冷的潮气，一个年轻人双手插在口袋里走来走去。这已引起了狮穴成员很大的好奇心。他身上的衣服如果是没有被撕破，从剪裁来看他应该是一位高雅的绅士，那套衣服并不算旧，在年轻人的小心的整理之下，撕破的那一部分不久便恢复了它原有的光泽，使人一看就知道那衣服的质地很不错。他同样爱护身上那件白葛布衬衫。自从他入
以来，衬衫的颜色已改变了很多，他用一块角上绣着一顶皇冠的手帕角把他的皮靴擦亮。狮穴里的几个囚犯对这个人的修饰表示了很大的兴趣。
“瞧！王子在打扮他自己了。”一个囚犯说。
“他天生长得非常漂亮，”另一个贼说，“假如他有一把梳子和一些发蜡，他就要把那些戴白手套的先生们比下去了。”
“他的上衣好象是新的，他的皮靴真亮。我们有了这样体面的伙伴，真是增光不少，那些宪兵们不要脸。嫉妒得撕烂这样好的衣服！”
“他象是一个重要人物，”另一个说，“他穿着体面的衣服。”在这种恶意的赞美下，年轻人向侧门走过去，侧门上靠着一个看守。
“先生，”他说，“借二十法郎给我，很快就还给你，你跟我交往是没有危险的。我亲戚的钱，一百万一百万地计算，比你一个子一个子地计算都多呢。我求求你，借二十法郎给我，让我去买一件睡衣，一天到晚穿着上装和皮靴真让人受不了，而且，先生，这件上装怎么配穿在卡瓦尔康蒂王子身上呀！”
看守转过身去，耸了耸肩。他对于这种任何人听了都会发笑的话毫无反应，这种话他听得太多了，——实际上，他所听到的，都是这样的话。
“好，”安德烈说，“你是一个没有同情心的人，我会让你丢掉饭碗的。”
那看守转过身来，爆发出一阵大笑。那时，囚犯们已走过来。把他俩围在中间。
“我告诉你，”安德烈继续说，“有了二十法郎，我就可以弄到一件上装和一个房间，我就可以接见我天天盼望的贵客了。”
“他说得对！他说得对！”囚犯们说，“谁都看得出他是一个上等人。”
“嗯，那末，你们借二十法郎给他吧，”看守换了一个肩膀靠在侧门上说，“你们当然不会拒绝一个伙伴的请求的。”
“我不是这些人的伙伴，”那年轻人骄傲地说，“你没有权利这样侮辱我。”
囚犯们互相望了一眼，口里发出不满的嘟囔，一场暴风雨已在这贵族派头的囚犯头上聚集起来了，这场暴风雨不是他的话惹起的，而是那看守的态度造成的。看守因为确信事态闹大时他可以使它平息下来，所以听任事态发展，以便使那个喋喋不休的家伙挨顿教训，而且，这也可以供他作一种消遣。盗贼们已经逼近安德烈了，有些囚犯嘴里喊到“破鞋子！破鞋子！”——那是一种残酷的刑罚，方法是用一只钉掌的破鞋来殴打侮辱同伴，另外一些囚犯建议用“钉包”，——
那又是他们的一种消遣，方法是用一块手帕包住沙泥、石子和他们身边所有的半便士的铜板，用它来敲打那倒霉者的头和肩，有些人则说：“让我们用马鞭子把那位漂亮先生抽一顿！”
安德烈转过身去，对他们眨眨眼睛，用舌头鼓起面颊，噘起嘴唇，发出一种声音。这种举动在盗贼间抵得上一百句话。
这是卡德罗斯教他的暗号。他立刻被认为是自己人了，手帕包被摔掉了，铁掌鞋回到了领头者的脚上。有人说，这位先生说得对，他有权利随心所欲地打扮，他们决不妨碍旁人的自由。骚乱平息下去了。看守对于这种场面简直是惊诧，他开始搜查安德烈的身体，认为狮穴里的囚犯突然变得这样了驯服，靠他个人目光的威慑是办不到的，而是有别的理由。安德烈虽然抗议，但并不抗拒。突然，侧门外面传来一个声音。
“贝尼代托！”
“有人叫我。”安德烈说。看守只好放手。
“到会见室去！”同一个声音说。
“你看，有人来看我了。啊，我亲爱的先生，您瞧着吧，对待一个卡瓦尔康蒂究竟是不能象对一个普通人一样的！”
于是安德烈象幽灵似的溜过天井，冲出栅门，让他的伙伴们和那看守沉浸在惊讶里。
对于这次被召到会见室里安德烈本人并不象旁人那样惊奇。因为，自从跨进福斯监
，那善于心计的青年便保持着坚忍的沉默，不象旁人那样到处写信向人求援。“显然的，”他对自己说，“有一个强有力的人保护着我，所有的一切都向我证明了这一点，——突如其来的好运气，种种困难轻而易举地被克服了，一个即兴而来的父亲和一个送上门来的光辉的姓氏，黄金雨点般地落到我身上，我几乎要结上一门显赫的亲事。命中注定的一场波折和我那保护人的一时疏忽使我落到这个地步，但我绝不会永远如此。当我堕入深渊的时候，那个人又会伸出手来把我救出去的！我无须冒险采取卤莽的行动。如果卤莽行动，也会使我的保护人疏远我。他有两种办法可以把我从这种困境里解救出来，——他可以用贿赂的方法为我设计一次神秘的出逃，要不，他就用黄金收买我的法官。我暂且不说话，也不作任何举动，直到我确信他已完全抛弃我的时候，那时——”
安德烈已经拟定了一个相当狡猾的计划。那不幸的年轻人勇于进攻，防守时也厉害。他一生下来就与监
为伍，匮乏的生活他都经受过，可是，渐渐地，他的天性显露出来了，他忍受不了污秽、饥饿和褴褛的生活。正当他处在这种度日如年的境况中的时候，有人来看了。安德烈觉得他的心因欢喜而狂跳着。检察官不会来得这样早，
医不会来得这样迟，所以，这一定是他所盼望的人来了。
到了会见室栅栏后面以后，安德烈惊奇地张大了眼睛，他看见的贝尔图乔先生那张阴郁而精明的脸，后者这时也带着戚然的目光凝视那铁栅，那闩住的门以及那在对面栅栏后面晃动的人影。
“啊！”安德烈大为感动地说。
“早安，贝尼代托。”贝尔图乔用深沉的声音说。
“你！你！”那青年惊慌地四下张望。
“你不认识我了吗，可怜的孩子？”
“轻一点！轻一点！”安德烈说，他知道墙壁另一边会有人听的，“看在上帝的面上，别说得那么响！”
“你希望和我单独谈，是吗？”贝尔图乔说。
“噢，是的！”
“很好！”于是贝尔图乔从他的口袋里摸出一张纸，向那个站在侧门窗外的看守招呼了一下。
“看！”他说。
“那是什么？”安德烈问道。
“一道让你搬到一个单间里去和我谈话的命令。”
“噢！”安德烈喊道，他高兴得跳了起来。然后他心里思忖道，“还是那位无名的保护人做的，他没有忘记我。他要保密，所以要找个单间谈话。我明白，——贝尔图乔是我的保护人派来的。”
看守和一位上司商量了一会儿，然后打开铁门，领安德烈到二楼上的一个房间里。房间的墙上照例刷着石灰，但在一个犯人看来，它已经够漂亮了，虽然它里面的全部家当只包括一只火炉、一张床、一把椅子和一张桌子。贝尔图乔坐在椅子上，安德烈把他自己往床上一躺，看守退了出去。
“现在，”那位管家说，“你有什么话要告诉我？”
“你呢？”安德烈说。
“你先说。”
“噢，不！你一定有很多话要对我说，因为你是来找我的。”
“好，就算是吧！你不断地在作恶，你抢劫，你杀人。”
“哼！如果你带我到这个房间里来只是想告诉我这些的话，你大可不必这么麻烦。这种事情我都知道。但有些事情我还不知道。如果你高兴，谈谈我不知道的那些事情吧。谁派你来的？”
“喏，喏，你太着急了吧，贝尼代托先生？”
“是的，但我说了问题的关键！废话少说。是谁派你来的？”
“没有人。”
“你怎么知道我在监
里呢？”
“不久以前，我在香榭丽舍大道上认出你，看见你打扮得象个花花公子，神气活现地骑在马上。”
“噢，香榭丽舍大道！啊，啊！我们是搅在一起啦。香榭丽大道！来，谈一谈我的父亲吧！”
“那么，我是谁呢？”
“你吗，阁下？你是我的养父。但我想，让我在四五个月里面花掉十万法郎，不是你吧。我那在意大利的绅士父亲，不是你给我制造出来的吧，我进入社交界，到阿都尔去赴宴，——我现在觉得还好象在与巴黎上层的那些人物一起吃东西，那些人物中有一位检察官，可惜我没有借那个机会与他多多接触——他该不是你介绍给我的吧，现在，我的秘密泄露，大概是你不肯花一两百万来保我出去吧？说话呀，我尊敬的科西嘉人，说呀！”
“你要我说什么？”
“我来提醒你。你刚才提到香榭丽舍大道，我可敬的养父！”
“怎么样？”
“嗯，在香榭丽舍大道，一位非常有钱的绅士就住在那儿。”
“你到他家里去偷过东西，杀过人，是不是？”
“我想是的。”
“是基督山伯爵？”
“你说对了。嗯，我是不是要冲进他的怀里，紧紧地抱住他，象演员们在舞台所做的那样大哭‘爹爹，爹爹’呢？”
“我们不要开玩笑，”贝尔图乔严肃地说，“这个名字不随便可以说的，你不要太放肆了。”
“噢！”安德烈说，贝尔图乔那种庄严的态度使他有点害怕，“为什么不？”
“因为叫那个名字的人是蒙天主厚爱，是不会有你这样一个混蛋的儿子！”
“噢，这句话真好听！”
“假如你不小心，还有更糟糕的事情在后面呢！”
“吓唬我，我不怕的，我要说——”
“你以为你的对手是一个象你一样的胆小鬼吗？”贝尔图乔说。
他的语气平静坚定，以致安德烈的心都发抖了。“你以为你的对手是监
里的败类，是初出茅庐的毛头小伙子吗？贝尼代托，你已经落入一只可怕的手里了，有一只手准备来救你，你应该好自为之！别去玩弄那些鬼花样，假如你要阻扰它的行动，它必定会对你严惩的。”
“我的父亲——我要知道谁是我的父亲！”那固执的年轻人说，“假如我一定要死，我就死好了，但我要知道这件事情。
我不怕出丑。我应该拥有什么财产，什么名誉？你们这些大人物拥有家财万贯，但碰到丑闻总是要损失惨重。来，告诉我究竟谁是我的父亲？”
“我就是来告诉你的。”
“啊！”贝尼代托说，他的眼睛里闪烁着惊喜的光。
正当这时，门开了，
卒对贝尔图乔说：“对不起，先生，检察官等着要查犯人了。”
“那末我们的谈话就此结束，”安德烈对那可敬的管家说，“那该死的捣蛋鬼！”
“我明天再来。”贝尔图乔说。
“好！宪兵，我会听从你们的吩咐。啊，好先生，务必请你给我留下几个钱放在门房里，让他们为我买几样急需的物品。”
“我会给的。”贝尔图乔回答。
安德烈向他伸手来，贝尔图乔依旧把手插在口袋里，把口袋里的几块钱弄得丁丁当当发响。“正是我所需要的，”安德烈说，他想笑，但却被贝尔图乔那种出奇的镇静慑服了。
“我不上当？”他一面低声说着，一面跨进那被称为“杂拌篮”的长方形的铁栅车里。“不要紧，我们等着瞧吧！那么，明天见。”他转过去对贝尔图乔说。
“明天见。”那管家回答说。