"Listen to me, I am ready to tell you all that I know. There below, in the Catalonian quarter of Marseilles, lives a fisherman's family. Brave and diligent, they were never ashamed of their calling. They have worked day and night with boat and net, and accumulated a nice amount of property. The family consists of ten persons: father, mother, seven sons, and one daughter live in the modest but decent hut. The sons are strong and courageous fellows, who are not afraid of anybody; the daughter is charming with her dark curly hair, her glowing sloe-black eyes, and her marble white skin. Jacopo, am I to tell you the name of the little one?"
"Manuelita"—it sounded gently like a breath from the lips of Jacopo.
"You have liked this beautiful child since you first saw her, and one day you took heart and you went to Manuelita's father—"
"Who turned me out like a beggar," interrupted Jacopo, gloomily.
"That he did not do," continued the count, coolly. "He told you quietly, Manuelita will not become a poor man's wife."
"And perhaps that was no insult?" continued Jacopo, vehemently. "All people cannot be rich."
"But Manuelita's father has also told you something else?" asked Monte-Cristo, quietly.
"Oh, yes," replied Jacopo, bitterly; "he called after me that if I came back with twenty thousand francs, then Manuelita should be mine. I earn such wealth! He was making sport of me."
And Jacopo stamped angrily and uttered a heavy curse.