“But why into five parts?” asked Caderousse; “you only mentioned four persons.”
“Because the fifth is dead, as I hear. The fifth sharer in Edmond’s bequest, was his own father.”
“Too true, too true!” ejaculated Caderousse, almost suffocated by the contending passions which assailed him, “the poor old man did die.”
“I learned so much at Marseilles,” replied the abbé, making a strong effort to appear indifferent; “but from the length of time that has elapsed since the death of the elder Dantès, I was unable to obtain any particulars of his end. Can you enlighten me on that point?”
“I do not know who could if I could not,” said Caderousse. “Why, I lived almost on the same floor with the poor old man. Ah, yes, about a year after the disappearance of his son the poor old man died.”
“Of what did he die?”
“Why, the doctors called his complaint gastro-enteritis, I believe; his acquaintances say he died of grief; but I, who saw him in his dying moments, I say he died of——”
Caderousse paused.
“Of what?” asked the priest, anxiously and eagerly.
“Why, of downright starvation.”