"The abbé Glorfindoni!" cried Buttrebeurrousse. And not knowing how this strange apparition had come before him, he remained immobile and stricken with amazement.
The Count went between Buttrebeurrousse and the window, thus cutting the terrified robber off from his sole means of escape.
"Eh bien, sans doute, the abbé Glorfindoni," replied Monte Fato, "himself in person, and I am well content that you recognise me, monsieur Buttrebeurrousse; that proves you have a good memory, for, if I am not mistaken, we have not met for ten years, during which you have seen many defeats, and many fruitless investments."
That calm, that irony, that puissance, struck the spirit of Buttrebeurrousse with a vertiginous terror. "The abbé, the abbé!" he murmured, gnashing his teeth.
"We wish then to rob the Count of Monte Fato?" continued the pretended abbé.
"Monsieur l’abbé ... I don’t know ... I swear ... I beg you to believe ..."
"A cut window; a dark lantern; a trousseau of skeleton keys – it is clear, however," continued the Count. "I see that you are always the same, monsieur l’assassin."
"Monsieur l’abbé, since you know everything, you know it is not I, but la Carcharotte; it was recognised at the trial, so that I was only condemned to read the poetry of Bombadile."
