"You repent, at least?" said a sombre and solemn voice that made the hairs on Sacqueville-Danglars's feet stand up.
The banker's weakened eyes saw behind the bandit a man enveloped in a mantle and lost in the shade of a pilaster of earth.
"Of what must I repent?" stammered Sacqueville-Danglars.
"Of the evil you have done," said the voice. "Of being a wicked capitalist and probably a countertenor and being ugly."
"Oh, yes, I repent, I repent!" cried Sacqueville-Danglars, striking his bosom with weakened fist.
"Then I forgive you," said the man, doffing his mantle whose tails reached out like two vast wings and stepping forward into the light.
"The Count of Monte Fato!" said Sacqueville-Danglars, paler with terror than he had been, a moment before, with hunger and misery.
"You err; I am not the Count of Monte Fato."
"Who are you, then?"
