"Ask me anything. Honestly, you understand my life better than I do." Edmond said sincerely.
"First, who interrogated you? The chief prosecutor, his deputy, or a magistrate?" The priest asked.
"The deputy prosecutor."
"Was he young or old?" For original chapters go to novel-fire.net
"About twenty-six or twenty-seven, I’d guess."
"So, old enough to be ambitious, but too young to be corrupt. How did he treat you?"
"More gently than harshly."
"Did you tell him everything?"
"Did his behavior change during the interrogation?"
"He seemed very disturbed when he read the letter that got me into this mess. He appeared genuinely upset by my situation."
"Are you sure he was upset about your misfortune?"
"He gave me clear proof of his sympathy."
"He burned the only evidence that could have incriminated me."
"What? The accusation?"
"That changes everything. This man might be an even greater villain than you imagine."
"You’re making me shiver. Is the world full of predators and monsters?"
"Yes, and remember that human predators are far more dangerous than wild animals."
"Never mind, let’s continue."
"Gladly! You said he burned the letter?"
"Yes, while saying, ’You see, I’m destroying the only evidence against you.’"
"That gesture is too theatrical to be genuine."
"I’m certain. Who was the letter addressed to?"
"Monsieur Noirtier, Number 13 Rooster Street, Paris."
"Can you think of any reason your heroic deputy prosecutor would want to destroy that letter?"
"Well, it’s possible. He made me promise several times never to mention the letter to anyone, claiming it was for my own protection. He even made me swear a solemn oath never to speak the name from the address."
"Noirtier!" the priest repeated thoughtfully. "Noirtier... I knew someone by that name at a royal court, a Noirtier who had been a revolutionary politician during the civil war! What was your deputy prosecutor’s name?"
The priest burst into laughter while Edmond stared at him in complete bewilderment.
"What’s wrong?" Edmond finally asked.
"Do you see that ray of sunlight?"
"Well, everything is clearer to me now than that sunbeam is to you. Poor boy! And you say this magistrate expressed great sympathy for you?"
"And this noble man destroyed your incriminating letter?"
"And made you swear never to speak Noirtier’s name?"
"You poor, naive fool! Can’t you guess who this Noirtier was, whose name he was so careful to keep secret? Noirtier was his father."
If lightning had struck at Edmond’s feet, he couldn’t have been more shocked. He jumped up, clutching his head as if to keep his brain from exploding, and cried out, "HIS FATHER! HIS FATHER!"
"Yes, his father," the priest confirmed. "His full name was Noirtier de Villefort."
Suddenly, everything became crystal clear to Edmond. He understood why Villefort’s behavior had changed during the interrogation, why he’d destroyed the letter, why he’d demanded those promises, why his tone had seemed more like begging for mercy than delivering justice. The realization hit him like a physical blow.
He stumbled against the wall like a drunk man, then rushed toward the passage connecting their cells. "I need to be alone to think about all this."
Back in his own cell, he threw himself on his bed. When the guard made his evening rounds, he found Edmond sitting motionless as a statue, staring into space with a dark expression.
During those hours of intense reflection, Edmond formed a terrible resolution and bound himself to it with a sacred oath.
Later, the priest’s voice roused him from his brooding. The old man had also been visited by his guard and had come to invite Edmond to share his dinner. Being considered harmlessly insane had earned the priest special privileges, better bread than the usual prison fare, and even a small portion of wine each Sunday.
Today was Sunday, and the priest wanted to share these luxuries with his young friend. Edmond followed him, his face no longer showing the contracted features of despair, but wearing an expression of terrible, fixed determination.
The priest studied him with penetrating eyes. "I regret helping you with your investigation," he said sadly. "I regret giving you that information."
"Because it has planted a new poison in your heart, the desire for revenge."
Edmond smiled coldly. "Let’s talk about something else."
The priest looked at him again and shook his head mournfully. But following Edmond’s request, he began discussing other topics.
The old man was one of those people whose conversation was always valuable and enlightening. He’d experienced many trials and possessed both practical wisdom and deep knowledge. Yet he never spoke of his own sorrows, making his company all the more precious.
Edmond listened with admiring attention. Some of what the priest said connected with his own experiences, while other concepts opened entirely new worlds of understanding to him. The priest’s words were like a guiding light in the darkness, revealing intellectual horizons Edmond had never imagined.
"You must teach me some of what you know," Edmond said. "Otherwise you’ll grow tired of my ignorant company. Someone as educated as you would probably prefer complete solitude to being stuck with someone as uninformed as me. If you agree to teach me, I promise never to mention escape again."
The priest smiled. "My boy, human knowledge is quite limited. When I’ve taught you mathematics, physics, history, and the three or four modern languages I know, you’ll know as much as I do. It would take about two years for me to share everything I’ve learned."
"Two years!" Edmond exclaimed. "Can I really learn all that so quickly?"
"Not their practical application, but their basic principles, yes. Learning facts isn’t the same as understanding wisdom. Memory creates scholars, but philosophy creates wise men."
"Can’t philosophy be taught?"
"Philosophy can’t be taught directly. It’s the application of knowledge to truth, like a golden light that transforms everything it touches."
"Then what will you teach me first? I’m eager to begin. I want to learn."
"Everything," the priest said simply.