It was easy to discover that the delicate care of a mother, unwilling to
part from her son, and yet aware that a young man of the viscount's age
required the full exercise of his liberty, had chosen this habitation
for Albert. There were not lacking, however, evidences of what we may
call the intelligent egoism of a youth who is charmed with the indolent,
careless life of an only son, and who lives as it were in a gilded cage.
By means of the two windows looking into the street, Albert could see
all that passed; the sight of what is going on is necessary to young
men, who always want to see the world traverse their horizon, even if
that horizon is only a public thoroughfare. Then, should anything appear
to merit a more minute examination, Albert de Morcerf could follow up
his researches by means of a small gate, similar to that close to the
concierge's door, and which merits a particular description. It was a
little entrance that seemed never to have been opened since the house
was built, so entirely was it covered with dust and dirt; but the
well-oiled hinges and locks told quite another story. This door was a
mockery to the concierge, from whose vigilance and jurisdiction it was
free, and, like that famous portal in the "Arabian Nights," opening at
the "Sesame" of Ali Baba, it was wont to swing backward at a cabalistic
word or a concerted tap from without from the sweetest voices or whitest
fingers in the world. At the end of a long corridor, with which the
door communicated, and which formed the ante-chamber, was, on the right,
Albert's breakfast-room, looking into the court, and on the left the
salon, looking into the garden. Shrubs and creeping plants covered the
windows, and hid from the garden and court these two apartments, the
only rooms into which, as they were on the ground-floor, the prying eyes
of the curious could penetrate. On the floor above were similar rooms,
with the addition of a third, formed out of the ante-chamber;
these three rooms were a salon, a boudoir, and a bedroom. The salon
down-stairs was only an Algerian divan, for the use of smokers. The
boudoir up-stairs communicated with the bed-chamber by an invisible door
on the staircase; it was evident that every precaution had been taken.
Above this floor was a large atelier, which had been increased in size
by pulling down the partitions--a pandemonium, in which the artist and
the dandy strove for preeminence. There were collected and piled up all
Albert's successive caprices, hunting-horns, bass-viols, flutes--a whole
orchestra, for Albert had had not a taste but a fancy for music; easels,
palettes, brushes, pencils--for music had been succeeded by painting;
foils, boxing-gloves, broadswords, and single-sticks--for, following
the example of the fashionable young men of the time, Albert de Morcerf
cultivated, with far more perseverance than music and drawing, the
three arts that complete a dandy's education, i.e., fencing, boxing,
and single-stick; and it was here that he received Grisier, Cook,
and Charles Leboucher. The rest of the furniture of this privileged
apartment consisted of old cabinets, filled with Chinese porcelain and
Japanese vases, Lucca della Robbia faience, and Palissy platters; of old
arm-chairs, in which perhaps had sat Henry IV. or Sully, Louis XIII. or
Richelieu--for two of these arm-chairs, adorned with a carved shield,
on which were engraved the fleur-de-lis of France on an azure field
evidently came from the Louvre, or, at least, some royal residence. Over
these dark and sombre chairs were thrown splendid stuffs, dyed beneath
Persia's sun, or woven by the fingers of the women of Calcutta or of
Chandernagor. What these stuffs did there, it was impossible to say;
they awaited, while gratifying the eyes, a destination unknown to their
owner himself; in the meantime they filled the place with their golden
and silky reflections. In the centre of the room was a Roller and
Blanchet "baby grand" piano in rosewood, but holding the potentialities
of an orchestra in its narrow and sonorous cavity, and groaning beneath
the weight of the chefs-d'oeuvre of Beethoven, Weber, Mozart, Haydn,
Gretry, and Porpora. On the walls, over the doors, on the ceiling, were
swords, daggers, Malay creeses, maces, battle-axes; gilded, damasked,
and inlaid suits of armor; dried plants, minerals, and stuffed birds,
their flame-colored wings outspread in motionless flight, and their
beaks forever open. This was Albert's favorite lounging place.

However, the morning of the appointment, the young man had established
himself in the small salon down-stairs. There, on a table, surrounded at
some distance by a large and luxurious divan, every species of tobacco
known,--from the yellow tobacco of Petersburg to the black of Sinai,
and so on along the scale from Maryland and Porto-Rico, to Latakia,--was
exposed in pots of crackled earthenware of which the Dutch are so fond;
beside them, in boxes of fragrant wood, were ranged, according to their
size and quality, pueros, regalias, havanas, and manillas; and, in an
open cabinet, a collection of German pipes, of chibouques, with their
amber mouth-pieces ornamented with coral, and of narghiles, with their
long tubes of morocco, awaiting the caprice or the sympathy of the
smokers. Albert had himself presided at the arrangement, or, rather, the
symmetrical derangement, which, after coffee, the guests at a breakfast
of modern days love to contemplate through the vapor that escapes from
their mouths, and ascends in long and fanciful wreaths to the ceiling.
At a quarter to ten, a valet entered; he composed, with a little groom
named John, and who only spoke English, all Albert's establishment,
although the cook of the hotel was always at his service, and on great
occasions the count's chasseur also. This valet, whose name was Germain,
and who enjoyed the entire confidence of his young master, held in one
hand a number of papers, and in the other a packet of letters, which
he gave to Albert. Albert glanced carelessly at the different missives,
selected two written in a small and delicate hand, and enclosed in
scented envelopes, opened them and perused their contents with some
attention. "How did these letters come?" said he.

"One by the post, Madame Danglars' footman left the other."

"Let Madame Danglars know that I accept the place she offers me in her
box. Wait; then, during the day, tell Rosa that when I leave the Opera
I will sup with her as she wishes. Take her six bottles of different
wine--Cyprus, sherry, and Malaga, and a barrel of Ostend oysters; get
them at Borel's, and be sure you say they are for me."

"At what o'clock, sir, do you breakfast?"

"What time is it now?"

"A quarter to ten."

"Very well, at half past ten. Debray will, perhaps, be obliged to go to
the minister--and besides" (Albert looked at his tablets), "it is the
hour I told the count, 21st May, at half past ten; and though I do not
much rely upon his promise, I wish to be punctual. Is the countess up
yet?"

"If you wish, I will inquire."

"Yes, ask her for one of her liqueur cellarets, mine is incomplete; and
tell her I shall have the honor of seeing her about three o'clock, and
that I request permission to introduce some one to her." The valet left
the room. Albert threw himself on the divan, tore off the cover of two
or three of the papers, looked at the theatre announcements, made a face
seeing they gave an opera, and not a ballet; hunted vainly amongst the
advertisements for a new tooth-powder of which he had heard, and threw
down, one after the other, the three leading papers of Paris, muttering,
"These papers become more and more stupid every day." A moment after,
a carriage stopped before the door, and the servant announced M. Lucien
Debray. A tall young man, with light hair, clear gray eyes, and thin
and compressed lips, dressed in a blue coat with beautifully carved gold
buttons, a white neckcloth, and a tortoiseshell eye-glass suspended by a
silken thread, and which, by an effort of the superciliary and zygomatic
muscles, he fixed in his eye, entered, with a half-official air, without
smiling or speaking. "Good-morning, Lucien, good-morning," said Albert;
"your punctuality really alarms me. What do I say? punctuality! You,
whom I expected last, you arrive at five minutes to ten, when the time
fixed was half-past! Has the ministry resigned?"

"No, my dear fellow," returned the young man, seating himself on the
divan; "reassure yourself; we are tottering always, but we never fall,
and I begin to believe that we shall pass into a state of immobility,
and then the affairs of the Peninsula will completely consolidate us."

"Ah, true; you drive Don Carlos out of Spain."

"No, no, my dear fellow, do not confound our plans. We take him to
the other side of the French frontier, and offer him hospitality at
Bourges."

"At Bourges?"

"Yes, he has not much to complain of; Bourges is the capital of Charles
VII. Do you not know that all Paris knew it yesterday, and the day
before it had already transpired on the Bourse, and M. Danglars (I do
not know by what means that man contrives to obtain intelligence as soon
as we do) made a million!"

"And you another order, for I see you have a blue ribbon at your
button-hole."

"Yes; they sent me the order of Charles III.," returned Debray,
carelessly.

"Come, do not affect indifference, but confess you were pleased to have
it."

"Oh, it is very well as a finish to the toilet. It looks very neat on a
black coat buttoned up."

"And makes you resemble the Prince of Wales or the Duke of Reichstadt."

"It is for that reason you see me so early."

"Because you have the order of Charles III., and you wish to announce
the good news to me?"

"No, because I passed the night writing letters,--five and twenty
despatches. I returned home at daybreak, and strove to sleep; but my
head ached and I got up to have a ride for an hour. At the Bois de
Boulogne, ennui and hunger attacked me at once,--two enemies who rarely
accompany each other, and who are yet leagued against me, a sort of
Carlo-republican alliance. I then recollected you gave a breakfast this
morning, and here I am. I am hungry, feed me; I am bored, amuse me."

"It is my duty as your host," returned Albert, ringing the bell, while
Lucien turned over, with his gold-mounted cane, the papers that lay on
the table. "Germain, a glass of sherry and a biscuit. In the meantime,
my dear Lucien, here are cigars--contraband, of course--try them, and
persuade the minister to sell us such instead of poisoning us with
cabbage leaves."

"Peste, I will do nothing of the kind; the moment they come from
government you would find them execrable. Besides, that does not concern
the home but the financial department. Address yourself to M. Humann,
section of the indirect contributions, corridor A., No. 26."

"On my word," said Albert, "you astonish me by the extent of your
knowledge. Take a cigar."

"Really, my dear Albert," replied Lucien, lighting a manilla at a
rose-colored taper that burnt in a beautifully enamelled stand--"how
happy you are to have nothing to do. You do not know your own good
fortune!"

"And what would you do, my dear diplomatist," replied Morcerf, with a
slight degree of irony in his voice, "if you did nothing? What? private
secretary to a minister, plunged at once into European cabals and
Parisian intrigues; having kings, and, better still, queens, to protect,
parties to unite, elections to direct; making more use of your cabinet
with your pen and your telegraph than Napoleon did of his battle-fields
with his sword and his victories; possessing five and twenty thousand
francs a year, besides your place; a horse, for which Chateau-Renaud
offered you four hundred louis, and which you would not part with; a
tailor who never disappoints you; with the opera, the jockey-club, and
other diversions, can you not amuse yourself? Well, I will amuse you."

"How?"

"By introducing to you a new acquaintance."

"A man or a woman?"

"A man."

"I know so many men already."

"But you do not know this man."

"Where does he come from--the end of the world?"

"Farther still, perhaps."

"The deuce! I hope he does not bring our breakfast with him."

"Oh, no; our breakfast comes from my father's kitchen. Are you hungry?"

"Humiliating as such a confession is, I am. But I dined at M. de
Villefort's, and lawyers always give you very bad dinners. You would
think they felt some remorse; did you ever remark that?"

"Ah, depreciate other persons' dinners; you ministers give such splendid
ones."

"Yes; but we do not invite people of fashion. If we were not forced to
entertain a parcel of country boobies because they think and vote with
us, we should never dream of dining at home, I assure you."

"Well, take another glass of sherry and another biscuit."

"Willingly. Your Spanish wine is excellent. You see we were quite right
to pacify that country."

"Yes; but Don Carlos?"

"Well, Don Carlos will drink Bordeaux, and in ten years we will marry
his son to the little queen."

"You will then obtain the Golden Fleece, if you are still in the
ministry."

"I think, Albert, you have adopted the system of feeding me on smoke
this morning."

"Well, you must allow it is the best thing for the stomach; but I hear
Beauchamp in the next room; you can dispute together, and that will pass
away the time."

"About what?"

"About the papers."

"My dear friend," said Lucien with an air of sovereign contempt, "do I
ever read the papers?"

"Then you will dispute the more."

"M. Beauchamp," announced the servant. "Come in, come in," said Albert,
rising and advancing to meet the young man. "Here is Debray, who detests
you without reading you, so he says."

"He is quite right," returned Beauchamp; "for I criticise him without
knowing what he does. Good-day, commander!"

"Ah, you know that already," said the private secretary, smiling and
shaking hands with him.

"Pardieu?"

"And what do they say of it in the world?"

"In which world? we have so many worlds in the year of grace 1838."

"In the entire political world, of which you are one of the leaders."

"They say that it is quite fair, and that sowing so much red, you ought
to reap a little blue."

"Come, come, that is not bad!" said Lucien. "Why do you not join our
party, my dear Beauchamp? With your talents you would make your fortune
in three or four years."

"I only await one thing before following your advice; that is, a
minister who will hold office for six months. My dear Albert, one word,
for I must give poor Lucien a respite. Do we breakfast or dine? I must
go to the Chamber, for our life is not an idle one."

"You only breakfast; I await two persons, and the instant they arrive we
shall sit down to table."

"A gentleman, and a diplomatist."

"Then we shall have to wait two hours for the gentleman, and three
for the diplomatist. I shall come back to dessert; keep me some
strawberries, coffee, and cigars. I shall take a cutlet on my way to the
Chamber."

"Do not do anything of the sort; for were the gentleman a Montmorency,
and the diplomatist a Metternich, we will breakfast at eleven; in the
meantime, follow Debray's example, and take a glass of sherry and a
biscuit."

"Be it so; I will stay; I must do something to distract my thoughts."

"You are like Debray, and yet it seems to me that when the minister is
out of spirits, the opposition ought to be joyous."

"Ah, you do not know with what I am threatened. I shall hear this
morning that M. Danglars make a speech at the Chamber of Deputies, and
at his wife's this evening I shall hear the tragedy of a peer of France.
The devil take the constitutional government, and since we had our
choice, as they say, at least, how could we choose that?"

"I understand; you must lay in a stock of hilarity."

"Do not run down M. Danglars' speeches," said Debray; "he votes for you,
for he belongs to the opposition."

"Pardieu, that is exactly the worst of all. I am waiting until you send
him to speak at the Luxembourg, to laugh at my ease."

"My dear friend," said Albert to Beauchamp, "it is plain that the
affairs of Spain are settled, for you are most desperately out of humor
this morning. Recollect that Parisian gossip has spoken of a marriage
between myself and Mlle. Eugenie Danglars; I cannot in conscience,
therefore, let you run down the speeches of a man who will one day say
to me, 'Vicomte, you know I give my daughter two millions.'"

"Ah, this marriage will never take place," said Beauchamp. "The king
has made him a baron, and can make him a peer, but he cannot make him a
gentleman, and the Count of Morcerf is too aristocratic to consent, for
the paltry sum of two million francs, to a mesalliance. The Viscount of
Morcerf can only wed a marchioness."

"But two million francs make a nice little sum," replied Morcerf.

"It is the social capital of a theatre on the boulevard, or a railroad
from the Jardin des Plantes to La Rapee."

"Never mind what he says, Morcerf," said Debray, "do you marry her. You
marry a money-bag label, it is true; well, but what does that matter? It
is better to have a blazon less and a figure more on it. You have seven
martlets on your arms; give three to your wife, and you will still have
four; that is one more than M. de Guise had, who so nearly became King
of France, and whose cousin was Emperor of Germany."

"On my word, I think you are right, Lucien," said Albert absently.

"To be sure; besides, every millionaire is as noble as a bastard--that
is, he can be."

"Do not say that, Debray," returned Beauchamp, laughing, "for here is
Chateau-Renaud, who, to cure you of your mania for paradoxes, will pass
the sword of Renaud de Montauban, his ancestor, through your body."

"He will sully it then," returned Lucien; "for I am low--very low."

"Oh, heavens," cried Beauchamp, "the minister quotes Beranger, what
shall we come to next?"

"M. de Chateau-Renaud--M. Maximilian Morrel," said the servant,
announcing two fresh guests.

"Now, then, to breakfast," said Beauchamp; "for, if I remember, you told
me you only expected two persons, Albert."

"Morrel," muttered Albert--"Morrel--who is he?" But before he had
finished, M. de Chateau-Renaud, a handsome young man of thirty,
gentleman all over,--that is, with the figure of a Guiche and the wit
of a Mortemart,--took Albert's hand. "My dear Albert," said he, "let me
introduce to you M. Maximilian Morrel, captain of Spahis, my friend; and
what is more--however the man speaks for himself---my preserver. Salute
my hero, viscount." And he stepped on one side to give place to a young
man of refined and dignified bearing, with large and open brow,
piercing eyes, and black mustache, whom our readers have already seen
at Marseilles, under circumstances sufficiently dramatic not to be
forgotten. A rich uniform, half French, half Oriental, set off his
graceful and stalwart figure, and his broad chest was decorated with
the order of the Legion of Honor. The young officer bowed with easy and
elegant politeness. "Monsieur," said Albert with affectionate courtesy,
"the count of Chateau-Renaud knew how much pleasure this introduction
would give me; you are his friend, be ours also."

"Well said," interrupted Chateau-Renaud; "and pray that, if you should
ever be in a similar predicament, he may do as much for you as he did
for me."

"What has he done?" asked Albert.

"Oh, nothing worth speaking of," said Morrel; "M. de Chateau-Renaud
exaggerates."

"Not worth speaking of?" cried Chateau-Renaud; "life is not worth
speaking of!--that is rather too philosophical, on my word, Morrel. It
is very well for you, who risk your life every day, but for me, who only
did so once"--

"We gather from all this, baron, that Captain Morrel saved your life."

"Exactly so."

"On what occasion?" asked Beauchamp.

"Beauchamp, my good fellow, you know I am starving," said Debray: "do
not set him off on some long story."

"Well, I do not prevent your sitting down to table," replied Beauchamp,
"Chateau-Renaud can tell us while we eat our breakfast."

"Gentlemen," said Morcerf, "it is only a quarter past ten, and I expect
some one else."

"Ah, true, a diplomatist!" observed Debray.

"Diplomat or not, I don't know; I only know that he charged himself
on my account with a mission, which he terminated so entirely to my
satisfaction, that had I been king, I should have instantly created him
knight of all my orders, even had I been able to offer him the Golden
Fleece and the Garter."

"Well, since we are not to sit down to table," said Debray, "take a
glass of sherry, and tell us all about it."

"You all know that I had the fancy of going to Africa."

"It is a road your ancestors have traced for you," said Albert
gallantly.

"Yes? but I doubt that your object was like theirs--to rescue the Holy
Sepulchre."

"You are quite right, Beauchamp," observed the young aristocrat. "It was
only to fight as an amateur. I cannot bear duelling since two seconds,
whom I had chosen to arrange an affair, forced me to break the arm of
one of my best friends, one whom you all know--poor Franz d'Epinay."

"Ah, true," said Debray, "you did fight some time ago; about what?"

"The devil take me, if I remember," returned Chateau-Renaud. "But I
recollect perfectly one thing, that, being unwilling to let such talents
as mine sleep, I wished to try upon the Arabs the new pistols that had
been given to me. In consequence I embarked for Oran, and went from
thence to Constantine, where I arrived just in time to witness the
raising of the siege. I retreated with the rest, for eight and forty
hours. I endured the rain during the day, and the cold during the
night tolerably well, but the third morning my horse died of cold. Poor
brute--accustomed to be covered up and to have a stove in the stable,
the Arabian finds himself unable to bear ten degrees of cold in Arabia."

"That's why you want to purchase my English horse," said Debray, "you
think he will bear the cold better."

"You are mistaken, for I have made a vow never to return to Africa."

"You were very much frightened, then?" asked Beauchamp.

"Well, yes, and I had good reason to be so," replied Chateau-Renaud. "I
was retreating on foot, for my horse was dead. Six Arabs came up, full
gallop, to cut off my head. I shot two with my double-barrelled gun, and
two more with my pistols, but I was then disarmed, and two were still
left; one seized me by the hair (that is why I now wear it so short, for
no one knows what may happen), the other swung a yataghan, and I already
felt the cold steel on my neck, when this gentleman whom you see here
charged them, shot the one who held me by the hair, and cleft the skull
of the other with his sabre. He had assigned himself the task of saving
a man's life that day; chance caused that man to be myself. When I am
rich I will order a statue of Chance from Klagmann or Marochetti."

"Yes," said Morrel, smiling, "it was the 5th of September, the
anniversary of the day on which my father was miraculously preserved;
therefore, as far as it lies in my power, I endeavor to celebrate it by
some"--

"Heroic action," interrupted Chateau-Renaud. "I was chosen. But that is
not all--after rescuing me from the sword, he rescued me from the cold,
not by sharing his cloak with me, like St. Martin, but by giving me the
whole; then from hunger by sharing with me--guess what?"

"A Strasbourg pie?" asked Beauchamp.

"No, his horse; of which we each of us ate a slice with a hearty
appetite. It was very hard."

"The horse?" said Morcerf, laughing.

"No, the sacrifice," returned Chateau-Renaud; "ask Debray if he would
sacrifice his English steed for a stranger?"

"Not for a stranger," said Debray, "but for a friend I might, perhaps."

"I divined that you would become mine, count," replied Morrel; "besides,
as I had the honor to tell you, heroism or not, sacrifice or not, that
day I owed an offering to bad fortune in recompense for the favors good
fortune had on other days granted to us."

"The history to which M. Morrel alludes," continued Chateau-Renaud, "is
an admirable one, which he will tell you some day when you are better
acquainted with him; to-day let us fill our stomachs, and not our
memories. What time do you breakfast, Albert?"

"At half-past ten."

"Precisely?" asked Debray, taking out his watch.

"Oh, you will give me five minutes' grace," replied Morcerf, "for I also
expect a preserver."

"Of whom?"

"Of myself," cried Morcerf; "parbleu, do you think I cannot be saved as
well as any one else, and that there are only Arabs who cut off heads?
Our breakfast is a philanthropic one, and we shall have at table--at
least, I hope so--two benefactors of humanity."

"What shall we do?" said Debray; "we have only one Monthyon prize."

"Well, it will be given to some one who has done nothing to deserve it,"
said Beauchamp; "that is the way the Academy mostly escapes from the
dilemma."

"And where does he come from?" asked Debray. "You have already answered
the question once, but so vaguely that I venture to put it a second
time."

"Really," said Albert, "I do not know; when I invited him three months
ago, he was then at Rome, but since that time who knows where he may
have gone?"

"And you think him capable of being exact?" demanded Debray.

"I think him capable of everything."

"Well, with the five minutes' grace, we have only ten left."

"I will profit by them to tell you something about my guest."

"I beg pardon," interrupted Beauchamp; "are there any materials for an
article in what you are going to tell us?"

"Yes, and for a most curious one."

"Go on, then, for I see I shall not get to the Chamber this morning, and
I must make up for it."

"I was at Rome during the last Carnival."

"We know that," said Beauchamp.

"Yes, but what you do not know is that I was carried off by bandits."

"There are no bandits," cried Debray.

"Yes there are, and most hideous, or rather most admirable ones, for I
found them ugly enough to frighten me."

"Come, my dear Albert," said Debray, "confess that your cook is
behindhand, that the oysters have not arrived from Ostend or Marennes,
and that, like Madame de Maintenon, you are going to replace the dish
by a story. Say so at once; we are sufficiently well-bred to excuse you,
and to listen to your history, fabulous as it promises to be."

"And I say to you, fabulous as it may seem, I tell it as a true one from
beginning to end. The brigands had carried me off, and conducted me to a
gloomy spot, called the Catacombs of Saint Sebastian."

"I know it," said Chateau-Renaud; "I narrowly escaped catching a fever
there."

"And I did more than that," replied Morcerf, "for I caught one. I
was informed that I was prisoner until I paid the sum of 4,000 Roman
crowns--about 24,000 francs. Unfortunately, I had not above 1,500. I was
at the end of my journey and of my credit. I wrote to Franz--and were he
here he would confirm every word--I wrote then to Franz that if he did
not come with the four thousand crowns before six, at ten minutes past
I should have gone to join the blessed saints and glorious martyrs in
whose company I had the honor of being; and Signor Luigi Vampa, such was
the name of the chief of these bandits, would have scrupulously kept his
word."

"But Franz did come with the four thousand crowns," said Chateau-Renaud.
"A man whose name is Franz d'Epinay or Albert de Morcerf has not much
difficulty in procuring them."

"No, he arrived accompanied simply by the guest I am going to present to
you."

"Ah, this gentleman is a Hercules killing Cacus, a Perseus freeing
Andromeda."

"No, he is a man about my own size."

"Armed to the teeth?"

"He had not even a knitting-needle."

"But he paid your ransom?"

"He said two words to the chief and I was free."

"And they apologized to him for having carried you off?" said Beauchamp.

"Just so."

"Why, he is a second Ariosto."

"No, his name is the Count of Monte Cristo."

"There is no Count of Monte Cristo" said Debray.

"I do not think so," added Chateau-Renaud, with the air of a man who
knows the whole of the European nobility perfectly.

"Does any one know anything of a Count of Monte Cristo?"

"He comes possibly from the Holy Land, and one of his ancestors
possessed Calvary, as the Mortemarts did the Dead Sea."

"I think I can assist your researches," said Maximilian. "Monte Cristo
is a little island I have often heard spoken of by the old sailors my
father employed--a grain of sand in the centre of the Mediterranean, an
atom in the infinite."

"Precisely!" cried Albert. "Well, he of whom I speak is the lord and
master of this grain of sand, of this atom; he has purchased the title
of count somewhere in Tuscany."

"He is rich, then?"

"I believe so."

"But that ought to be visible."

"That is what deceives you, Debray."

"I do not understand you."

"Have you read the 'Arabian Nights'?"

"What a question!"

"Well, do you know if the persons you see there are rich or poor, if
their sacks of wheat are not rubies or diamonds? They seem like poor
fishermen, and suddenly they open some mysterious cavern filled with the
wealth of the Indies."

"Which means?"

"Which means that my Count of Monte Cristo is one of those fishermen. He
has even a name taken from the book, since he calls himself Sinbad the
Sailor, and has a cave filled with gold."

"And you have seen this cavern, Morcerf?" asked Beauchamp.

"No, but Franz has; for heaven's sake, not a word of this before him.
Franz went in with his eyes blindfolded, and was waited on by mutes and
by women to whom Cleopatra was a painted strumpet. Only he is not quite
sure about the women, for they did not come in until after he had taken
hashish, so that what he took for women might have been simply a row of
statues."

The two young men looked at Morcerf as if to say,--"Are you mad, or are
you laughing at us?"

"And I also," said Morrel thoughtfully, "have heard something like this
from an old sailor named Penelon."

"Ah," cried Albert, "it is very lucky that M. Morrel comes to aid me;
you are vexed, are you not, that he thus gives a clew to the labyrinth?"

"My dear Albert," said Debray, "what you tell us is so extraordinary."

"Ah, because your ambassadors and your consuls do not tell you of
them--they have no time. They are too much taken up with interfering in
the affairs of their countrymen who travel."

"Now you get angry, and attack our poor agents. How will you have them
protect you? The Chamber cuts down their salaries every day, so that now
they have scarcely any. Will you be ambassador, Albert? I will send you
to Constantinople."

"No, lest on the first demonstration I make in favor of Mehemet Ali, the
Sultan send me the bowstring, and make my secretaries strangle me."

"You say very true," responded Debray.

"Yes," said Albert, "but this has nothing to do with the existence of
the Count of Monte Cristo."

"Pardieu, every one exists."

"Doubtless, but not in the same way; every one has not black slaves,
a princely retinue, an arsenal of weapons that would do credit to an
Arabian fortress, horses that cost six thousand francs apiece, and Greek
mistresses."

"Have you seen the Greek mistress?"

"I have both seen and heard her. I saw her at the theatre, and heard her
one morning when I breakfasted with the count."

"He eats, then?"

"Yes; but so little, it can hardly be called eating."

"He must be a vampire."

"Laugh, if you will; the Countess G----, who knew Lord Ruthven, declared
that the count was a vampire."

"Ah, capital," said Beauchamp. "For a man not connected with newspapers,
here is the pendant to the famous sea-serpent of the Constitutionnel."

"Wild eyes, the iris of which contracts or dilates at pleasure," said
Debray; "facial angle strongly developed, magnificent forehead,
livid complexion, black beard, sharp and white teeth, politeness
unexceptionable."

"Just so, Lucien," returned Morcerf; "you have described him feature for
feature. Yes, keen and cutting politeness. This man has often made me
shudder; and one day that we were viewing an execution, I thought I
should faint, more from hearing the cold and calm manner in which
he spoke of every description of torture, than from the sight of the
executioner and the culprit."

"Did he not conduct you to the ruins of the Colosseum and suck your
blood?" asked Beauchamp.

"Or, having delivered you, make you sign a flaming parchment,
surrendering your soul to him as Esau did his birth-right?"

"Rail on, rail on at your ease, gentlemen," said Morcerf, somewhat
piqued. "When I look at you Parisians, idlers on the Boulevard de Gand
or the Bois de Boulogne, and think of this man, it seems to me we are
not of the same race."

"I am highly flattered," returned Beauchamp. "At the same time," added
Chateau-Renaud, "your Count of Monte Cristo is a very fine fellow,
always excepting his little arrangements with the Italian banditti."

"There are no Italian banditti," said Debray.

"No vampire," cried Beauchamp. "No Count of Monte Cristo" added Debray.
"There is half-past ten striking, Albert."

"Confess you have dreamed this, and let us sit down to breakfast,"
continued Beauchamp. But the sound of the clock had not died away when
Germain announced, "His excellency the Count of Monte Cristo." The
involuntary start every one gave proved how much Morcerf's narrative
had impressed them, and Albert himself could not wholly refrain from
manifesting sudden emotion. He had not heard a carriage stop in the
street, or steps in the ante-chamber; the door had itself opened
noiselessly. The count appeared, dressed with the greatest simplicity,
but the most fastidious dandy could have found nothing to cavil at in
his toilet. Every article of dress--hat, coat, gloves, and boots--was
from the first makers. He seemed scarcely five and thirty. But what
struck everybody was his extreme resemblance to the portrait Debray had
drawn. The count advanced, smiling, into the centre of the room, and
approached Albert, who hastened towards him holding out his hand in a
ceremonial manner. "Punctuality," said Monte Cristo, "is the politeness
of kings, according to one of your sovereigns, I think; but it is not
the same with travellers. However, I hope you will excuse the two
or three seconds I am behindhand; five hundred leagues are not to be
accomplished without some trouble, and especially in France, where, it
seems, it is forbidden to beat the postilions."

"My dear count," replied Albert, "I was announcing your visit to some of
my friends, whom I had invited in consequence of the promise you did me
the honor to make, and whom I now present to you. They are the Count of
Chateau-Renaud, whose nobility goes back to the twelve peers, and whose
ancestors had a place at the Round Table; M. Lucien Debray, private
secretary to the minister of the interior; M. Beauchamp, an editor of a
paper, and the terror of the French government, but of whom, in spite of
his national celebrity, you perhaps have not heard in Italy, since his
paper is prohibited there; and M. Maximilian Morrel, captain of Spahis."

At this name the count, who had hitherto saluted every one with
courtesy, but at the same time with coldness and formality, stepped a
pace forward, and a slight tinge of red colored his pale cheeks. "You
wear the uniform of the new French conquerors, monsieur," said he; "it
is a handsome uniform." No one could have said what caused the count's
voice to vibrate so deeply, and what made his eye flash, which was in
general so clear, lustrous, and limpid when he pleased. "You have never
seen our Africans, count?" said Albert. "Never," replied the count, who
was by this time perfectly master of himself again.

"Well, beneath this uniform beats one of the bravest and noblest hearts
in the whole army."

"Oh, M. de Morcerf," interrupted Morrel.

"Let me go on, captain. And we have just heard," continued Albert, "of
a new deed of his, and so heroic a one, that, although I have seen him
to-day for the first time, I request you to allow me to introduce him
as my friend." At these words it was still possible to observe in Monte
Cristo the concentrated look, changing color, and slight trembling of
the eyelid that show emotion. "Ah, you have a noble heart," said the
count; "so much the better." This exclamation, which corresponded to
the count's own thought rather than to what Albert was saying, surprised
everybody, and especially Morrel, who looked at Monte Cristo with
wonder. But, at the same time, the intonation was so soft that, however
strange the speech might seem, it was impossible to be offended at it.
"Why should he doubt it?" said Beauchamp to Chateau-Renaud.

"In reality," replied the latter, who, with his aristocratic glance
and his knowledge of the world, had penetrated at once all that was
penetrable in Monte Cristo, "Albert has not deceived us, for the count
is a most singular being. What say you, Morrel!"

"Ma foi, he has an open look about him that pleases me, in spite of the
singular remark he has made about me."

"Gentlemen," said Albert, "Germain informs me that breakfast is ready.
My dear count, allow me to show you the way." They passed silently into
the breakfast-room, and every one took his place. "Gentlemen," said the
count, seating himself, "permit me to make a confession which must form
my excuse for any improprieties I may commit. I am a stranger, and a
stranger to such a degree, that this is the first time I have ever been
at Paris. The French way of living is utterly unknown to me, and up to
the present time I have followed the Eastern customs, which are entirely
in contrast to the Parisian. I beg you, therefore, to excuse if you find
anything in me too Turkish, too Italian, or too Arabian. Now, then, let
us breakfast."

"With what an air he says all this," muttered Beauchamp; "decidedly he
is a great man."

"A great man in his own country," added Debray.

"A great man in every country, M. Debray," said Chateau-Renaud. The
count was, it may be remembered, a most temperate guest. Albert remarked
this, expressing his fears lest, at the outset, the Parisian mode of
life should displease the traveller in the most essential point. "My
dear count," said he, "I fear one thing, and that is, that the fare of
the Rue du Helder is not so much to your taste as that of the Piazza di
Spagni. I ought to have consulted you on the point, and have had some
dishes prepared expressly."

"Did you know me better," returned the count, smiling, "you would not
give one thought of such a thing for a traveller like myself, who
has successively lived on maccaroni at Naples, polenta at Milan, olla
podrida at Valencia, pilau at Constantinople, karrick in India, and
swallows' nests in China. I eat everywhere, and of everything, only
I eat but little; and to-day, that you reproach me with my want of
appetite, is my day of appetite, for I have not eaten since yesterday
morning."

"What," cried all the guests, "you have not eaten for four and twenty
hours?"

"No," replied the count; "I was forced to go out of my road to obtain
some information near Nimes, so that I was somewhat late, and therefore
I did not choose to stop."

"And you ate in your carriage?" asked Morcerf.

"No, I slept, as I generally do when I am weary without having the
courage to amuse myself, or when I am hungry without feeling inclined to
eat."

"But you can sleep when you please, monsieur?" said Morrel.

"Yes."

"You have a recipe for it?"

"An infallible one."

"That would be invaluable to us in Africa, who have not always any food
to eat, and rarely anything to drink."

"Yes," said Monte Cristo; "but, unfortunately, a recipe excellent for a
man like myself would be very dangerous applied to an army, which might
not awake when it was needed."

"May we inquire what is this recipe?" asked Debray.

"Oh, yes," returned Monte Cristo; "I make no secret of it. It is a
mixture of excellent opium, which I fetched myself from Canton in order
to have it pure, and the best hashish which grows in the East--that is,
between the Tigris and the Euphrates. These two ingredients are mixed
in equal proportions, and formed into pills. Ten minutes after one is
taken, the effect is produced. Ask Baron Franz d'Epinay; I think he
tasted them one day."

"Yes," replied Morcerf, "he said something about it to me."

"But," said Beauchamp, who, as became a journalist, was very
incredulous, "you always carry this drug about you?"

"Always."

"Would it be an indiscretion to ask to see those precious pills?"
continued Beauchamp, hoping to take him at a disadvantage.

"No, monsieur," returned the count; and he drew from his pocket a
marvellous casket, formed out of a single emerald and closed by a golden
lid which unscrewed and gave passage to a small greenish colored pellet
about the size of a pea. This ball had an acrid and penetrating odor.
There were four or five more in the emerald, which would contain about
a dozen. The casket passed around the table, but it was more to examine
the admirable emerald than to see the pills that it passed from hand to
hand. "And is it your cook who prepares these pills?" asked Beauchamp.

"Oh, no, monsieur," replied Monte Cristo; "I do not thus betray my
enjoyments to the vulgar. I am a tolerable chemist, and prepare my pills
myself."

"This is a magnificent emerald, and the largest I have ever seen," said
Chateau-Renaud, "although my mother has some remarkable family jewels."

"I had three similar ones," returned Monte Cristo. "I gave one to the
Sultan, who mounted it in his sabre; another to our holy father the
Pope, who had it set in his tiara, opposite to one nearly as large,
though not so fine, given by the Emperor Napoleon to his predecessor,
Pius VII. I kept the third for myself, and I had it hollowed out, which
reduced its value, but rendered it more commodious for the purpose I
intended." Every one looked at Monte Cristo with astonishment; he spoke
with so much simplicity that it was evident he spoke the truth, or
that he was mad. However, the sight of the emerald made them naturally
incline to the former belief. "And what did these two sovereigns give
you in exchange for these magnificent presents?" asked Debray.

"The Sultan, the liberty of a woman," replied the Count; "the Pope, the
life of a man; so that once in my life I have been as powerful as if
heaven had brought me into the world on the steps of a throne."

"And it was Peppino you saved, was it not?" cried Morcerf; "it was for
him that you obtained pardon?"

"Perhaps," returned the count, smiling.

"My dear count, you have no idea what pleasure it gives me to hear you
speak thus," said Morcerf. "I had announced you beforehand to my friends
as an enchanter of the 'Arabian Nights,' a wizard of the Middle Ages;
but the Parisians are so subtle in paradoxes that they mistake for
caprices of the imagination the most incontestable truths, when these
truths do not form a part of their daily existence. For example, here is
Debray who reads, and Beauchamp who prints, every day, 'A member of the
Jockey Club has been stopped and robbed on the Boulevard;' 'four persons
have been assassinated in the Rue St. Denis' or 'the Faubourg St.
Germain;' 'ten, fifteen, or twenty thieves, have been arrested in a cafe
on the Boulevard du Temple, or in the Thermes de Julien,'--and yet these
same men deny the existence of the bandits in the Maremma, the Campagna
di Romana, or the Pontine Marshes. Tell them yourself that I was taken
by bandits, and that without your generous intercession I should
now have been sleeping in the Catacombs of St. Sebastian, instead of
receiving them in my humble abode in the Rue du Helder."

"Ah," said Monte Cristo "you promised me never to mention that
circumstance."

"It was not I who made that promise," cried Morcerf; "it must have been
some one else whom you have rescued in the same manner, and whom you
have forgotten. Pray speak of it, for I shall not only, I trust, relate
the little I do know, but also a great deal I do not know."

"It seems to me," returned the count, smiling, "that you played a
sufficiently important part to know as well as myself what happened."

"Well, you promise me, if I tell all I know, to relate, in your turn,
all that I do not know?"

"That is but fair," replied Monte Cristo.

"Well," said Morcerf, "for three days I believed myself the object of
the attentions of a masque, whom I took for a descendant of Tullia or
Poppoea, while I was simply the object of the attentions of a contadina,
and I say contadina to avoid saying peasant girl. What I know is, that,
like a fool, a greater fool than he of whom I spoke just now, I mistook
for this peasant girl a young bandit of fifteen or sixteen, with a
beardless chin and slim waist, and who, just as I was about to imprint
a chaste salute on his lips, placed a pistol to my head, and, aided by
seven or eight others, led, or rather dragged me, to the Catacombs of
St. Sebastian, where I found a highly educated brigand chief perusing
Caesar's 'Commentaries,' and who deigned to leave off reading to inform
me, that unless the next morning, before six o'clock, four thousand
piastres were paid into his account at his banker's, at a quarter past
six I should have ceased to exist. The letter is still to be seen,
for it is in Franz d'Epinay's possession, signed by me, and with a
postscript of M. Luigi Vampa. This is all I know, but I know not, count,
how you contrived to inspire so much respect in the bandits of Rome who
ordinarily have so little respect for anything. I assure you, Franz and
I were lost in admiration."

"Nothing more simple," returned the count. "I had known the famous Vampa
for more than ten years. When he was quite a child, and only a shepherd,
I gave him a few gold pieces for showing me my way, and he, in order to
repay me, gave me a poniard, the hilt of which he had carved with his
own hand, and which you may have seen in my collection of arms. In after
years, whether he had forgotten this interchange of presents, which
ought to have cemented our friendship, or whether he did not recollect
me, he sought to take me, but, on the contrary, it was I who captured
him and a dozen of his band. I might have handed him over to Roman
justice, which is somewhat expeditious, and which would have been
particularly so with him; but I did nothing of the sort--I suffered him
and his band to depart."

"With the condition that they should sin no more," said Beauchamp,
laughing. "I see they kept their promise."

"No, monsieur," returned Monte Cristo "upon the simple condition that
they should respect myself and my friends. Perhaps what I am about to
say may seem strange to you, who are socialists, and vaunt humanity and
your duty to your neighbor, but I never seek to protect a society which
does not protect me, and which I will even say, generally occupies
itself about me only to injure me; and thus by giving them a low place
in my esteem, and preserving a neutrality towards them, it is society
and my neighbor who are indebted to me."

"Bravo," cried Chateau-Renaud; "you are the first man I ever met
sufficiently courageous to preach egotism. Bravo, count, bravo!"

"It is frank, at least," said Morrel. "But I am sure that the count does
not regret having once deviated from the principles he has so boldly
avowed."

"How have I deviated from those principles, monsieur?" asked Monte
Cristo, who could not help looking at Morrel with so much intensity,
that two or three times the young man had been unable to sustain that
clear and piercing glance.

"Why, it seems to me," replied Morrel, "that in delivering M. de
Morcerf, whom you did not know, you did good to your neighbor and to
society."

"Of which he is the brightest ornament," said Beauchamp, drinking off a
glass of champagne.

"My dear count," cried Morcerf, "you are at fault--you, one of the most
formidable logicians I know--and you must see it clearly proved that
instead of being an egotist, you are a philanthropist. Ah, you call
yourself Oriental, a Levantine, Maltese, Indian, Chinese; your family
name is Monte Cristo; Sinbad the Sailor is your baptismal appellation,
and yet the first day you set foot in Paris you instinctively display
the greatest virtue, or rather the chief defect, of us eccentric
Parisians,--that is, you assume the vices you have not, and conceal the
virtues you possess."

"My dear vicomte," returned Monte Cristo, "I do not see, in all I have
done, anything that merits, either from you or these gentlemen, the
pretended eulogies I have received. You were no stranger to me, for
I knew you from the time I gave up two rooms to you, invited you to
breakfast with me, lent you one of my carriages, witnessed the Carnival
in your company, and saw with you from a window in the Piazza del Popolo
the execution that affected you so much that you nearly fainted. I will
appeal to any of these gentlemen, could I leave my guest in the hands
of a hideous bandit, as you term him? Besides, you know, I had the idea
that you could introduce me into some of the Paris salons when I came
to France. You might some time ago have looked upon this resolution as a
vague project, but to-day you see it was a reality, and you must submit
to it under penalty of breaking your word."

"I will keep it," returned Morcerf; "but I fear that you will be much
disappointed, accustomed as you are to picturesque events and fantastic
horizons. Amongst us you will not meet with any of those episodes with
which your adventurous existence has so familiarized you; our Chimborazo
is Mortmartre, our Himalaya is Mount Valerien, our Great Desert is the
plain of Grenelle, where they are now boring an artesian well to water
the caravans. We have plenty of thieves, though not so many as is said;
but these thieves stand in far more dread of a policeman than a lord.
France is so prosaic, and Paris so civilized a city, that you will not
find in its eighty-five departments--I say eighty-five, because I do
not include Corsica--you will not find, then, in these eighty-five
departments a single hill on which there is not a telegraph, or a grotto
in which the commissary of police has not put up a gaslamp. There is but
one service I can render you, and for that I place myself entirely
at your orders, that is, to present, or make my friends present, you
everywhere; besides, you have no need of any one to introduce you--with
your name, and your fortune, and your talent" (Monte Cristo bowed with
a somewhat ironical smile) "you can present yourself everywhere, and be
well received. I can be useful in one way only--if knowledge of Parisian
habits, of the means of rendering yourself comfortable, or of the
bazaars, can assist, you may depend upon me to find you a fitting
dwelling here. I do not dare offer to share my apartments with you, as I
shared yours at Rome--I, who do not profess egotism, but am yet egotist
par excellence; for, except myself, these rooms would not hold a shadow
more, unless that shadow were feminine."

"Ah," said the count, "that is a most conjugal reservation; I recollect
that at Rome you said something of a projected marriage. May I
congratulate you?"

"The affair is still in projection."

"And he who says in 'projection,' means already decided," said Debray.

"No," replied Morcerf, "my father is most anxious about it; and I
hope, ere long, to introduce you, if not to my wife, at least to my
betrothed--Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglars."

"Eugenie Danglars," said Monte Cristo; "tell me, is not her father Baron
Danglars?"

"Yes," returned Morcerf, "a baron of a new creation."

"What matter," said Monte Cristo "if he has rendered the State services
which merit this distinction?"

"Enormous ones," answered Beauchamp. "Although in reality a Liberal, he
negotiated a loan of six millions for Charles X., in 1829, who made
him a baron and chevalier of the Legion of Honor; so that he wears the
ribbon, not, as you would think, in his waistcoat-pocket, but at his
button-hole."

"Ah," interrupted Morcerf, laughing, "Beauchamp, Beauchamp, keep that
for the Corsaire or the Charivari, but spare my future father-in-law
before me." Then, turning to Monte Cristo, "You just now spoke his name
as if you knew the baron?"

"I do not know him," returned Monte Cristo; "but I shall probably soon
make his acquaintance, for I have a credit opened with him by the house
of Richard & Blount, of London, Arstein & Eskeles of Vienna, and Thomson
& French at Rome." As he pronounced the two last names, the count
glanced at Maximilian Morrel. If the stranger expected to produce an
effect on Morrel, he was not mistaken--Maximilian started as if he had
been electrified. "Thomson & French," said he; "do you know this house,
monsieur?"

"They are my bankers in the capital of the Christian world," returned
the count quietly. "Can my influence with them be of any service to
you?"

"Oh, count, you could assist me perhaps in researches which have been,
up to the present, fruitless. This house, in past years, did ours a
great service, and has, I know not for what reason, always denied having
rendered us this service."

"I shall be at your orders," said Monte Cristo bowing.

"But," continued Morcerf, "a propos of Danglars,--we have strangely
wandered from the subject. We were speaking of a suitable habitation
for the Count of Monte Cristo. Come, gentlemen, let us all propose some
place. Where shall we lodge this new guest in our great capital?"

"Faubourg Saint-Germain," said Chateau-Renaud. "The count will find
there a charming hotel, with a court and garden."

"Bah, Chateau-Renaud," returned Debray, "you only know your dull
and gloomy Faubourg Saint-Germain; do not pay any attention to him,
count--live in the Chaussee d'Antin, that's the real centre of Paris."

"Boulevard de l'Opera," said Beauchamp; "the second floor--a house with
a balcony. The count will have his cushions of silver cloth brought
there, and as he smokes his chibouque, see all Paris pass before him."

"You have no idea, then, Morrel?" asked Chateau-Renaud; "you do not
propose anything."

"Oh, yes," returned the young man, smiling; "on the contrary, I have
one, but I expected the count would be tempted by one of the brilliant
proposals made him, yet as he has not replied to any of them, I will
venture to offer him a suite of apartments in a charming hotel, in the
Pompadour style, that my sister has inhabited for a year, in the Rue
Meslay."

"You have a sister?" asked the count.

"Yes, monsieur, a most excellent sister."

"Married?"

"Nearly nine years."

"Happy?" asked the count again.

"As happy as it is permitted to a human creature to be," replied
Maximilian. "She married the man she loved, who remained faithful to
us in our fallen fortunes--Emmanuel Herbaut." Monte Cristo smiled
imperceptibly. "I live there during my leave of absence," continued
Maximilian; "and I shall be, together with my brother-in-law Emmanuel,
at the disposition of the Count, whenever he thinks fit to honor us."

"One minute," cried Albert, without giving Monte Cristo the time to
reply. "Take care, you are going to immure a traveller, Sinbad the
Sailor, a man who comes to see Paris; you are going to make a patriarch
of him."

"Oh, no," said Morrel; "my sister is five and twenty, my brother-in-law
is thirty, they are gay, young, and happy. Besides, the count will be in
his own house, and only see them when he thinks fit to do so."

"Thanks, monsieur," said Monte Cristo; "I shall content myself with
being presented to your sister and her husband, if you will do me the
honor to introduce me; but I cannot accept the offer of any one of these
gentlemen, since my habitation is already prepared."

"What," cried Morcerf; "you are, then, going to an hotel--that will be
very dull for you."

"Was I so badly lodged at Rome?" said Monte Cristo smiling.

"Parbleu, at Rome you spent fifty thousand piastres in furnishing your
apartments, but I presume that you are not disposed to spend a similar
sum every day."

"It is not that which deterred me," replied Monte Cristo; "but as I
determined to have a house to myself, I sent on my valet de chambre, and
he ought by this time to have bought the house and furnished it."

"But you have, then, a valet de chambre who knows Paris?" said
Beauchamp.

"It is the first time he has ever been in Paris. He is black, and cannot
speak," returned Monte Cristo.

"It is Ali!" cried Albert, in the midst of the general surprise.

"Yes, Ali himself, my Nubian mute, whom you saw, I think, at Rome."

"Certainly," said Morcerf; "I recollect him perfectly. But how could you
charge a Nubian to purchase a house, and a mute to furnish it?--he will
do everything wrong."

"Undeceive yourself, monsieur," replied Monte Cristo; "I am quite sure,
that, on the contrary, he will choose everything as I wish. He knows
my tastes, my caprices, my wants. He has been here a week, with the
instinct of a hound, hunting by himself. He will arrange everything for
me. He knew, that I should arrive to-day at ten o'clock; he was waiting
for me at nine at the Barriere de Fontainebleau. He gave me this paper;
it contains the number of my new abode; read it yourself," and Monte
Cristo passed a paper to Albert. "Ah, that is really original," said
Beauchamp.

"And very princely," added Chateau-Renaud.

"What, do you not know your house?" asked Debray.

"No," said Monte Cristo; "I told you I did not wish to be behind my
time; I dressed myself in the carriage, and descended at the viscount's
door." The young men looked at each other; they did not know if it was
a comedy Monte Cristo was playing, but every word he uttered had such
an air of simplicity, that it was impossible to suppose what he said
was false--besides, why should he tell a falsehood? "We must content
ourselves, then," said Beauchamp, "with rendering the count all the
little services in our power. I, in my quality of journalist, open all
the theatres to him."

"Thanks, monsieur," returned Monte Cristo, "my steward has orders to
take a box at each theatre."

"Is your steward also a Nubian?" asked Debray.

"No, he is a countryman of yours, if a Corsican is a countryman of any
one's. But you know him, M. de Morcerf."

"Is it that excellent M. Bertuccio, who understands hiring windows so
well?"

"Yes, you saw him the day I had the honor of receiving you; he has been
a soldier, a smuggler--in fact, everything. I would not be quite sure
that he has not been mixed up with the police for some trifle--a stab
with a knife, for instance."

"And you have chosen this honest citizen for your steward," said Debray.
"Of how much does he rob you every year?"

"On my word," replied the count, "not more than another. I am sure he
answers my purpose, knows no impossibility, and so I keep him."

"Then," continued Chateau-Renaud, "since you have an establishment, a
steward, and a hotel in the Champs Elysees, you only want a mistress."
Albert smiled. He thought of the fair Greek he had seen in the count's
box at the Argentina and Valle theatres. "I have something better than
that," said Monte Cristo; "I have a slave. You procure your mistresses
from the opera, the Vaudeville, or the Varietes; I purchased mine at
Constantinople; it cost me more, but I have nothing to fear."

"But you forget," replied Debray, laughing, "that we are Franks by name
and franks by nature, as King Charles said, and that the moment she puts
her foot in France your slave becomes free."

"Who will tell her?"

"The first person who sees her."

"She only speaks Romaic."

"That is different."

"But at least we shall see her," said Beauchamp, "or do you keep eunuchs
as well as mutes?"

"Oh, no," replied Monte Cristo; "I do not carry brutalism so far. Every
one who surrounds me is free to quit me, and when they leave me will
no longer have any need of me or any one else; it is for that reason,
perhaps, that they do not quit me." They had long since passed to
dessert and cigars.

"My dear Albert," said Debray, rising, "it is half-past two. Your
guest is charming, but you leave the best company to go into the worst
sometimes. I must return to the minister's. I will tell him of the
count, and we shall soon know who he is."

"Take care," returned Albert; "no one has been able to accomplish that."

"Oh, we have three millions for our police; it is true they are almost
always spent beforehand, but, no matter, we shall still have fifty
thousand francs to spend for this purpose."

"And when you know, will you tell me?"

"I promise you. Au revoir, Albert. Gentlemen, good morning."

As he left the room, Debray called out loudly, "My carriage."

"Bravo," said Beauchamp to Albert; "I shall not go to the Chamber, but I
have something better to offer my readers than a speech of M. Danglars."

"For heaven's sake, Beauchamp," returned Morcerf, "do not deprive me of
the merit of introducing him everywhere. Is he not peculiar?"

"He is more than that," replied Chateau-Renaud; "he is one of the most
extraordinary men I ever saw in my life. Are you coming, Morrel?"

"Directly I have given my card to the count, who has promised to pay us
a visit at Rue Meslay, No. 14."

"Be sure I shall not fail to do so," returned the count, bowing. And
Maximilian Morrel left the room with the Baron de Chateau-Renaud,
leaving Monte Cristo alone with Morcerf.

Albert expected to have something new this time to show to the
traveller, but, to his great surprise, the latter, without seeking
for the signatures, many of which, indeed, were only initials, named
instantly the author of every picture in such a manner that it was easy
to see that each name was not only known to him, but that each style
associated with it had been appreciated and studied by him. From the
salon they passed into the bed-chamber; it was a model of taste and
simple elegance. A single portrait, signed by Leopold Robert, shone in
its carved and gilded frame. This portrait attracted the Count of Monte
Cristo's attention, for he made three rapid steps in the chamber, and
stopped suddenly before it. It was the portrait of a young woman of five
or six and twenty, with a dark complexion, and light and lustrous eyes,
veiled beneath long lashes. She wore the picturesque costume of the
Catalan fisherwomen, a red and black bodice, and golden pins in her
hair. She was looking at the sea, and her form was outlined on the blue
ocean and sky. The light was so faint in the room that Albert did not
perceive the pallor that spread itself over the count's visage, or the
nervous heaving of his chest and shoulders. Silence prevailed for an
instant, during which Monte Cristo gazed intently on the picture.

"You have there a most charming mistress, viscount," said the count in
a perfectly calm tone; "and this costume--a ball costume,
doubtless--becomes her admirably."

"Ah, monsieur," returned Albert, "I would never forgive you this mistake
if you had seen another picture beside this. You do not know my mother;
she it is whom you see here. She had her portrait painted thus six
or eight years ago. This costume is a fancy one, it appears, and the
resemblance is so great that I think I still see my mother the same
as she was in 1830. The countess had this portrait painted during
the count's absence. She doubtless intended giving him an agreeable
surprise; but, strange to say, this portrait seemed to displease my
father, and the value of the picture, which is, as you see, one of the
best works of Leopold Robert, could not overcome his dislike to it.
It is true, between ourselves, that M. de Morcerf is one of the most
assiduous peers at the Luxembourg, a general renowned for theory, but a
most mediocre amateur of art. It is different with my mother, who paints
exceedingly well, and who, unwilling to part with so valuable a picture,
gave it to me to put here, where it would be less likely to displease
M. de Morcerf, whose portrait, by Gros, I will also show you. Excuse my
talking of family matters, but as I shall have the honor of introducing
you to the count, I tell you this to prevent you making any allusions
to this picture. The picture seems to have a malign influence, for my
mother rarely comes here without looking at it, and still more rarely
does she look at it without weeping. This disagreement is the only one
that has ever taken place between the count and countess, who are still
as much united, although married more than twenty years, as on the first
day of their wedding."

Monte Cristo glanced rapidly at Albert, as if to seek a hidden meaning
in his words, but it was evident the young man uttered them in the
simplicity of his heart. "Now," said Albert, "that you have seen all my
treasures, allow me to offer them to you, unworthy as they are. Consider
yourself as in your own house, and to put yourself still more at your
ease, pray accompany me to the apartments of M. de Morcerf, he whom I
wrote from Rome an account of the services you rendered me, and to whom
I announced your promised visit, and I may say that both the count and
countess anxiously desire to thank you in person. You are somewhat blase
I know, and family scenes have not much effect on Sinbad the Sailor,
who has seen so many others. However, accept what I propose to you as
an initiation into Parisian life--a life of politeness, visiting,
and introductions." Monte Cristo bowed without making any answer; he
accepted the offer without enthusiasm and without regret, as one of
those conventions of society which every gentleman looks upon as a duty.
Albert summoned his servant, and ordered him to acquaint M. and Madame
de Morcerf of the arrival of the Count of Monte Cristo. Albert followed
him with the count. When they arrived at the ante-chamber, above the
door was visible a shield, which, by its rich ornaments and its harmony
with the rest of the furniture, indicated the importance the owner
attached to this blazon. Monte Cristo stopped and examined it
attentively.

"Azure seven merlets, or, placed bender," said he. "These are,
doubtless, your family arms? Except the knowledge of blazons, that
enables me to decipher them, I am very ignorant of heraldry--I, a count
of a fresh creation, fabricated in Tuscany by the aid of a commandery
of St. Stephen, and who would not have taken the trouble had I not been
told that when you travel much it is necessary. Besides, you must have
something on the panels of your carriage, to escape being searched by
the custom-house officers. Excuse my putting such a question to you."

"It is not indiscreet," returned Morcerf, with the simplicity of
conviction. "You have guessed rightly. These are our arms, that is,
those of my father, but they are, as you see, joined to another shield,
which has gules, a silver tower, which are my mother's. By her side I am
Spanish, but the family of Morcerf is French, and, I have heard, one of
the oldest of the south of France."

"Yes," replied Monte Cristo "these blazons prove that. Almost all the
armed pilgrims that went to the Holy Land took for their arms either a
cross, in honor of their mission, or birds of passage, in sign of
the long voyage they were about to undertake, and which they hoped to
accomplish on the wings of faith. One of your ancestors had joined the
Crusades, and supposing it to be only that of St. Louis, that makes you
mount to the thirteenth century, which is tolerably ancient."

"It is possible," said Morcerf; "my father has in his study a
genealogical tree which will tell you all that, and on which I made
commentaries that would have greatly edified Hozier and Jaucourt. At
present I no longer think of it, and yet I must tell you that we are
beginning to occupy ourselves greatly with these things under our
popular government."

"Well, then, your government would do well to choose from the past
something better than the things that I have noticed on your monuments,
and which have no heraldic meaning whatever. As for you, viscount,"
continued Monte Cristo to Morcerf, "you are more fortunate than the
government, for your arms are really beautiful, and speak to the
imagination. Yes, you are at once from Provence and Spain; that
explains, if the portrait you showed me be like, the dark hue I so much
admired on the visage of the noble Catalan." It would have required the
penetration of Oedipus or the Sphinx to have divined the irony the count
concealed beneath these words, apparently uttered with the greatest
politeness. Morcerf thanked him with a smile, and pushed open the door
above which were his arms, and which, as we have said, opened into the
salon. In the most conspicuous part of the salon was another portrait.
It was that of a man, from five to eight and thirty, in the uniform of
a general officer, wearing the double epaulet of heavy bullion, that
indicates superior rank, the ribbon of the Legion of Honor around his
neck, which showed he was a commander, and on the right breast, the star
of a grand officer of the order of the Saviour, and on the left that
of the grand cross of Charles III., which proved that the person
represented by the picture had served in the wars of Greece and Spain,
or, what was just the same thing as regarded decorations, had fulfilled
some diplomatic mission in the two countries.

Monte Cristo was engaged in examining this portrait with no less care
than he had bestowed upon the other, when another door opened, and he
found himself opposite to the Count of Morcerf in person. He was a man
of forty to forty-five years, but he seemed at least fifty, and his
black mustache and eyebrows contrasted strangely with his almost white
hair, which was cut short, in the military fashion. He was dressed in
plain clothes, and wore at his button-hole the ribbons of the different
orders to which he belonged. He entered with a tolerably dignified step,
and some little haste. Monte Cristo saw him advance towards him without
making a single step. It seemed as if his feet were rooted to the
ground, and his eyes on the Count of Morcerf. "Father," said the young
man, "I have the honor of presenting to you the Count of Monte Cristo,
the generous friend whom I had the good fortune to meet in the critical
situation of which I have told you."

"You are most welcome, monsieur," said the Count of Morcerf, saluting
Monte Cristo with a smile, "and monsieur has rendered our house, in
preserving its only heir, a service which insures him our eternal
gratitude." As he said these words, the count of Morcerf pointed to a
chair, while he seated himself in another opposite the window.

Monte Cristo, in taking the seat Morcerf offered him, placed himself in
such a manner as to remain concealed in the shadow of the large velvet
curtains, and read on the careworn and livid features of the count a
whole history of secret griefs written in each wrinkle time had planted
there. "The countess," said Morcerf, "was at her toilet when she was
informed of the visit she was about to receive. She will, however, be in
the salon in ten minutes."

"It is a great honor to me," returned Monte Cristo, "to be thus, on the
first day of my arrival in Paris, brought in contact with a man whose
merit equals his reputation, and to whom fortune has for once been
equitable, but has she not still on the plains of Metidja, or in the
mountains of Atlas, a marshal's staff to offer you?"

"Oh," replied Morcerf, reddening slightly, "I have left the service,
monsieur. Made a peer at the Restoration, I served through the first
campaign under the orders of Marshal Bourmont. I could, therefore,
expect a higher rank, and who knows what might have happened had the
elder branch remained on the throne? But the Revolution of July was, it
seems, sufficiently glorious to allow itself to be ungrateful, and it
was so for all services that did not date from the imperial period. I
tendered my resignation, for when you have gained your epaulets on the
battle-field, you do not know how to manoeuvre on the slippery grounds
of the salons. I have hung up my sword, and cast myself into politics.
I have devoted myself to industry; I study the useful arts. During the
twenty years I served, I often wished to do so, but I had not the time."

"These are the ideas that render your nation superior to any other,"
returned Monte Cristo. "A gentleman of high birth, possessor of an
ample fortune, you have consented to gain your promotion as an obscure
soldier, step by step--this is uncommon; then become general, peer of
France, commander of the Legion of Honor, you consent to again commence
a second apprenticeship, without any other hope or any other desire than
that of one day becoming useful to your fellow-creatures; this, indeed,
is praiseworthy,--nay, more, it is sublime." Albert looked on and
listened with astonishment; he was not used to see Monte Cristo give
vent to such bursts of enthusiasm. "Alas," continued the stranger,
doubtless to dispel the slight cloud that covered Morcerf's brow, "we
do not act thus in Italy; we grow according to our race and our species,
and we pursue the same lines, and often the same uselessness, all our
lives."

"But, monsieur," said the Count of Morcerf, "for a man of your merit,
Italy is not a country, and France opens her arms to receive you;
respond to her call. France will not, perhaps, be always ungrateful. She
treats her children ill, but she always welcomes strangers."

"Ah, father," said Albert with a smile, "it is evident you do not know
the Count of Monte Cristo; he despises all honors, and contents himself
with those written on his passport."

"That is the most just remark," replied the stranger, "I ever heard made
concerning myself."

"You have been free to choose your career," observed the Count of
Morcerf, with a sigh; "and you have chosen the path strewed with
flowers."

"Precisely, monsieur," replied Monte Cristo with one of those smiles
that a painter could never represent or a physiologist analyze.

"If I did not fear to fatigue you," said the general, evidently charmed
with the count's manners, "I would have taken you to the Chamber;
there is a debate very curious to those who are strangers to our modern
senators."

"I shall be most grateful, monsieur, if you will, at some future time,
renew your offer, but I have been flattered with the hope of being
introduced to the countess, and I will therefore wait."

"Ah, here is my mother," cried the viscount. Monte Cristo, turned round
hastily, and saw Madame de Morcerf at the entrance of the salon, at
the door opposite to that by which her husband had entered, pale and
motionless; when Monte Cristo turned round, she let fall her arm, which
for some unknown reason had been resting on the gilded door-post.
She had been there some moments, and had heard the last words of the
visitor. The latter rose and bowed to the countess, who inclined herself
without speaking. "Ah, good heavens, madame," said the count, "are you
ill, or is it the heat of the room that affects you?"

"Are you ill, mother?" cried the viscount, springing towards her.

She thanked them both with a smile. "No," returned she, "but I feel
some emotion on seeing, for the first time, the man without whose
intervention we should have been in tears and desolation. Monsieur,"
continued the countess, advancing with the majesty of a queen, "I owe to
you the life of my son, and for this I bless you. Now, I thank you
for the pleasure you give me in thus affording me the opportunity of
thanking you as I have blessed you, from the bottom of my heart."
The count bowed again, but lower than before; He was even paler than
Mercedes. "Madame," said he, "the count and yourself recompense too
generously a simple action. To save a man, to spare a father's feelings,
or a mother's sensibility, is not to do a good action, but a simple deed
of humanity." At these words, uttered with the most exquisite sweetness
and politeness, Madame de Morcerf replied. "It is very fortunate for my
son, monsieur, that he found such a friend, and I thank God that things
are thus." And Mercedes raised her fine eyes to heaven with so fervent
an expression of gratitude, that the count fancied he saw tears in them.
M. de Morcerf approached her. "Madame," said he. "I have already made my
excuses to the count for quitting him, and I pray you to do so also. The
sitting commences at two; it is now three, and I am to speak."

"Go, then, and monsieur and I will strive our best to forget your
absence," replied the countess, with the same tone of deep feeling.
"Monsieur," continued she, turning to Monte Cristo, "will you do us the
honor of passing the rest of the day with us?"

"Believe me, madame, I feel most grateful for your kindness, but I
got out of my travelling carriage at your door this morning, and I am
ignorant how I am installed in Paris, which I scarcely know; this is but
a trifling inquietude, I know, but one that may be appreciated."

"We shall have the pleasure another time," said the countess; "you
promise that?" Monte Cristo inclined himself without answering, but
the gesture might pass for assent. "I will not detain you, monsieur,"
continued the countess; "I would not have our gratitude become
indiscreet or importunate."

"My dear Count," said Albert, "I will endeavor to return your politeness
at Rome, and place my coupe at your disposal until your own be ready."

"A thousand thanks for your kindness, viscount," returned the Count of
Monte Cristo "but I suppose that M. Bertuccio has suitably employed the
four hours and a half I have given him, and that I shall find a carriage
of some sort ready at the door." Albert was used to the count's
manner of proceeding; he knew that, like Nero, he was in search of the
impossible, and nothing astonished him, but wishing to judge with his
own eyes how far the count's orders had been executed, he accompanied
him to the door of the house. Monte Cristo was not deceived. As soon as
he appeared in the Count of Morcerf's ante-chamber, a footman, the
same who at Rome had brought the count's card to the two young men, and
announced his visit, sprang into the vestibule, and when he arrived at
the door the illustrious traveller found his carriage awaiting him. It
was a coupe of Koller's building, and with horses and harness for which
Drake had, to the knowledge of all the lions of Paris, refused on
the previous day seven hundred guineas. "Monsieur," said the count to
Albert, "I do not ask you to accompany me to my house, as I can only
show you a habitation fitted up in a hurry, and I have, as you know, a
reputation to keep up as regards not being taken by surprise. Give me,
therefore, one more day before I invite you; I shall then be certain not
to fail in my hospitality."

"If you ask me for a day, count, I know what to anticipate; it will not
be a house I shall see, but a palace. You have decidedly some genius at
your control."

"Ma foi, spread that idea," replied the Count of Monte Cristo, putting
his foot on the velvet-lined steps of his splendid carriage, "and that
will be worth something to me among the ladies." As he spoke, he sprang
into the vehicle, the door was closed, but not so rapidly that Monte
Cristo failed to perceive the almost imperceptible movement which
stirred the curtains of the apartment in which he had left Madame de
Morcerf. When Albert returned to his mother, he found her in the boudoir
reclining in a large velvet arm-chair, the whole room so obscure that
only the shining spangle, fastened here and there to the drapery, and
the angles of the gilded frames of the pictures, showed with some
degree of brightness in the gloom. Albert could not see the face of the
countess, as it was covered with a thin veil she had put on her head,
and which fell over her features in misty folds, but it seemed to him as
though her voice had altered. He could distinguish amid the perfumes of
the roses and heliotropes in the flower-stands, the sharp and fragrant
odor of volatile salts, and he noticed in one of the chased cups on the
mantle-piece the countess's smelling-bottle, taken from its shagreen
case, and exclaimed in a tone of uneasiness, as he entered,--"My dear
mother, have you been ill during my absence?"

"No, no, Albert, but you know these roses, tuberoses, and orange-flowers
throw out at first, before one is used to them, such violent perfumes."

"Then, my dear mother," said Albert, putting his hand to the bell, "they
must be taken into the ante-chamber. You are really ill, and just now
were so pale as you came into the room"--

"Was I pale, Albert?"

"Yes; a pallor that suits you admirably, mother, but which did not the
less alarm my father and myself."

"Did your father speak of it?" inquired Mercedes eagerly.

"No, madame; but do you not remember that he spoke of the fact to you?"

"Yes, I do remember," replied the countess. A servant entered, summoned
by Albert's ring of the bell. "Take these flowers into the anteroom or
dressing-room," said the viscount; "they make the countess ill." The
footman obeyed his orders. A long pause ensued, which lasted until all
the flowers were removed. "What is this name of Monte Cristo?" inquired
the countess, when the servant had taken away the last vase of flowers,
"is it a family name, or the name of the estate, or a simple title?"

"I believe, mother, it is merely a title. The count purchased an island
in the Tuscan archipelago, and, as he told you to-day, has founded
a commandery. You know the same thing was done for Saint Stephen of
Florence, Saint George, Constantinian of Parma, and even for the Order
of Malta. Except this, he has no pretension to nobility, and calls
himself a chance count, although the general opinion at Rome is that the
count is a man of very high distinction."

"His manners are admirable," said the countess, "at least, as far as I
could judge in the few minutes he remained here."

"They are perfect mother, so perfect, that they surpass by far all I
have known in the leading aristocracy of the three proudest nobilities
of Europe--the English, the Spanish, and the German." The countess
paused a moment; then, after a slight hesitation, she resumed,--"You
have seen, my dear Albert--I ask the question as a mother--you have
seen M. de Monte Cristo in his house, you are quicksighted, have much
knowledge of the world, more tact than is usual at your age, do you
think the count is really what he appears to be?"

"What does he appear to be?"

"Why, you have just said,--a man of high distinction."

"I told you, my dear mother, he was esteemed such."

"But what is your own opinion, Albert?"

"I must tell you that I have not come to any decided opinion respecting
him, but I think him a Maltese."

"I do not ask you of his origin but what he is."

"Ah, what he is; that is quite another thing. I have seen so many
remarkable things in him, that if you would have me really say what I
think, I shall reply that I really do look upon him as one of Byron's
heroes, whom misery has marked with a fatal brand; some Manfred, some
Lara, some Werner, one of those wrecks, as it were, of some ancient
family, who, disinherited of their patrimony, have achieved one by the
force of their adventurous genius, which has placed them above the laws
of society."

"You say"--

"I say that Monte Cristo is an island in the midst of the Mediterranean,
without inhabitants or garrison, the resort of smugglers of all nations,
and pirates of every flag. Who knows whether or not these industrious
worthies do not pay to their feudal lord some dues for his protection?"

"That is possible," said the countess, reflecting.

"Never mind," continued the young man, "smuggler or not, you must agree,
mother dear, as you have seen him, that the Count of Monte Cristo is
a remarkable man, who will have the greatest success in the salons of
Paris. Why, this very morning, in my rooms, he made his entree amongst
us by striking every man of us with amazement, not even excepting
Chateau-Renaud."

"And what do you suppose is the count's age?" inquired Mercedes,
evidently attaching great importance to this question.

"Thirty-five or thirty-six, mother."

"So young,--it is impossible," said Mercedes, replying at the same time
to what Albert said as well as to her own private reflection.

"It is the truth, however. Three or four times he has said to me, and
certainly without the slightest premeditation, 'at such a period I was
five years old, at another ten years old, at another twelve,' and
I, induced by curiosity, which kept me alive to these details, have
compared the dates, and never found him inaccurate. The age of this
singular man, who is of no age, is then, I am certain, thirty-five.
Besides, mother, remark how vivid his eye, how raven-black his hair,
and his brow, though so pale, is free from wrinkles,--he is not only
vigorous, but also young." The countess bent her head, as if beneath a
heavy wave of bitter thoughts. "And has this man displayed a friendship
for you, Albert?" she asked with a nervous shudder.

"I am inclined to think so."

"And--do--you--like--him?"

"Why, he pleases me in spite of Franz d'Epinay, who tries to convince
me that he is a being returned from the other world." The countess
shuddered. "Albert," she said, in a voice which was altered by emotion,
"I have always put you on your guard against new acquaintances. Now you
are a man, and are able to give me advice; yet I repeat to you, Albert,
be prudent."

"Why, my dear mother, it is necessary, in order to make your advice turn
to account, that I should know beforehand what I have to distrust.
The count never plays, he only drinks pure water tinged with a little
sherry, and is so rich that he cannot, without intending to laugh at me,
try to borrow money. What, then, have I to fear from him?"

"You are right," said the countess, "and my fears are weakness,
especially when directed against a man who has saved your life. How did
your father receive him, Albert? It is necessary that we should be more
than complaisant to the count. M. de Morcerf is sometimes occupied, his
business makes him reflective, and he might, without intending it"--

"Nothing could be in better taste than my father's demeanor, madame,"
said Albert; "nay, more, he seemed greatly flattered at two or three
compliments which the count very skilfully and agreeably paid him with
as much ease as if he had known him these thirty years. Each of these
little tickling arrows must have pleased my father," added Albert with
a laugh. "And thus they parted the best possible friends, and M. de
Morcerf even wished to take him to the Chamber to hear the speakers."
The countess made no reply. She fell into so deep a revery that her eyes
gradually closed. The young man, standing up before her, gazed upon
her with that filial affection which is so tender and endearing with
children whose mothers are still young and handsome. Then, after seeing
her eyes closed, and hearing her breathe gently, he believed she had
dropped asleep, and left the apartment on tiptoe, closing the door after
him with the utmost precaution. "This devil of a fellow," he muttered,
shaking his head; "I said at the time he would create a sensation here,
and I measure his effect by an infallible thermometer. My mother has
noticed him, and he must therefore, perforce, be remarkable." He
went down to the stables, not without some slight annoyance, when
he remembered that the Count of Monte Cristo had laid his hands on a
"turnout" which sent his bays down to second place in the opinion of
connoisseurs. "Most decidedly," said he, "men are not equal, and I must
beg my father to develop this theorem in the Chamber of Peers."

"He is in the small salon, excellency," returned Bertuccio.

"And the cards I ordered to be engraved as soon as you knew the number
of the house?"

"Your excellency, it is done already. I have been myself to the best
engraver of the Palais Royal, who did the plate in my presence. The
first card struck off was taken, according to your orders, to the Baron
Danglars, Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin, No. 7; the others are on the
mantle-piece of your excellency's bedroom."

"Good; what o'clock is it?"

"Four o'clock." Monte Cristo gave his hat, cane, and gloves to the same
French footman who had called his carriage at the Count of Morcerf's,
and then he passed into the small salon, preceded by Bertuccio,
who showed him the way. "These are but indifferent marbles in this
ante-chamber," said Monte Cristo. "I trust all this will soon be taken
away." Bertuccio bowed. As the steward had said, the notary awaited him
in the small salon. He was a simple-looking lawyer's clerk, elevated to
the extraordinary dignity of a provincial scrivener. "You are the notary
empowered to sell the country house that I wish to purchase, monsieur?"
asked Monte Cristo.

"Yes, count," returned the notary.

"Is the deed of sale ready?"

"Yes, count."

"Have you brought it?"

"Here it is."

"Very well; and where is this house that I purchase?" asked the count
carelessly, addressing himself half to Bertuccio, half to the notary.
The steward made a gesture that signified, "I do not know." The notary
looked at the count with astonishment. "What!" said he, "does not the
count know where the house he purchases is situated?"

"No," returned the count.

"The count does not know?"

"How should I know? I have arrived from Cadiz this morning. I have never
before been at Paris, and it is the first time I have ever even set my
foot in France."

"Ah, that is different; the house you purchase is at Auteuil." At these
words Bertuccio turned pale. "And where is Auteuil?" asked the count.

"Close by here, monsieur," replied the notary--"a little beyond Passy; a
charming situation, in the heart of the Bois de Boulogne."

"So near as that?" said the Count; "but that is not in the country. What
made you choose a house at the gates of Paris, M. Bertuccio?"

"I," cried the steward with a strange expression. "His excellency
did not charge me to purchase this house. If his excellency will
recollect--if he will think"--

"Ah, true," observed Monte Cristo; "I recollect now. I read the
advertisement in one of the papers, and was tempted by the false title,
'a country house.'"

"It is not yet too late," cried Bertuccio, eagerly; "and if your
excellency will intrust me with the commission, I will find you a better
at Enghien, at Fontenay-aux-Roses, or at Bellevue."

"Oh, no," returned Monte Cristo negligently; "since I have this, I will
keep it."

"And you are quite right," said the notary, who feared to lose his fee.
"It is a charming place, well supplied with spring-water and fine trees;
a comfortable habitation, although abandoned for a long time, without
reckoning the furniture, which, although old, is yet valuable, now that
old things are so much sought after. I suppose the count has the tastes
of the day?"

"To be sure," returned Monte Cristo; "it is very convenient, then?"

"It is more--it is magnificent."

"Peste, let us not lose such an opportunity," returned Monte Cristo.
"The deed, if you please, Mr. Notary." And he signed it rapidly, after
having first run his eye over that part of the deed in which were
specified the situation of the house and the names of the proprietors.
"Bertuccio," said he, "give fifty-five thousand francs to monsieur." The
steward left the room with a faltering step, and returned with a bundle
of bank-notes, which the notary counted like a man who never gives a
receipt for money until after he is sure it is all there. "And now,"
demanded the count, "are all the forms complied with?"

"All, sir."

"Have you the keys?"

"They are in the hands of the concierge, who takes care of the house,
but here is the order I have given him to install the count in his new
possessions."

"Very well;" and Monte Cristo made a sign with his hand to the notary,
which said, "I have no further need of you; you may go."

"But," observed the honest notary, "the count is, I think, mistaken; it
is only fifty thousand francs, everything included."

"And your fee?"

"Is included in this sum."

"But have you not come from Auteuil here?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Well, then, it is but fair that you should be paid for your loss of
time and trouble," said the count; and he made a gesture of polite
dismissal. The notary left the room backwards, and bowing down to the
ground; it was the first time he had ever met a similar client. "See
this gentleman out," said the count to Bertuccio. And the steward
followed the notary out of the room. Scarcely was the count alone, when
he drew from his pocket a book closed with a lock, and opened it with a
key which he wore round his neck, and which never left him. After having
sought for a few minutes, he stopped at a leaf which had several
notes, and compared them with the deed of sale, which lay on the table.
"'Auteuil, Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28;' it is indeed the same," said he;
"and now, am I to rely upon an avowal extorted by religious or physical
terror? However, in an hour I shall know all. Bertuccio!" cried
he, striking a light hammer with a pliant handle on a small gong.
"Bertuccio!" The steward appeared at the door. "Monsieur Bertuccio,"
said the count, "did you never tell me that you had travelled in
France?"

"In some parts of France--yes, excellency."

"You know the environs of Paris, then?"

"No, excellency, no," returned the steward, with a sort of nervous
trembling, which Monte Cristo, a connoisseur in all emotions, rightly
attributed to great disquietude.

"It is unfortunate," returned he, "that you have never visited the
environs, for I wish to see my new property this evening, and had you
gone with me, you could have given me some useful information."

"To Auteuil!" cried Bertuccio, whose copper complexion became livid--"I
go to Auteuil?"

"Well, what is there surprising in that? When I live at Auteuil, you
must come there, as you belong to my service." Bertuccio hung down his
head before the imperious look of his master, and remained motionless,
without making any answer. "Why, what has happened to you?--are you
going to make me ring a second time for the carriage?" asked Monte
Cristo, in the same tone that Louis XIV. pronounced the famous, "I
have been almost obliged to wait." Bertuccio made but one bound to the
ante-chamber, and cried in a hoarse voice--"His excellency's horses!"
Monte Cristo wrote two or three notes, and, as he sealed the last, the
steward appeared. "Your excellency's carriage is at the door," said he.

"Well, take your hat and gloves," returned Monte Cristo.

"Am I to accompany you, your excellency?" cried Bertuccio.

"Certainly, you must give the orders, for I intend residing at the
house." It was unexampled for a servant of the count's to dare to
dispute an order of his, so the steward, without saying a word, followed
his master, who got into the carriage, and signed to him to follow,
which he did, taking his place respectfully on the front seat.

"It is your new master, my good fellow," said the footman. And he held
out to the concierge the notary's order.

"The house is sold, then?" demanded the concierge; "and this gentleman
is coming to live here?"

"Yes, my friend," returned the count; "and I will endeavor to give you
no cause to regret your old master."

"Oh, monsieur," said the concierge, "I shall not have much cause to
regret him, for he came here but seldom; it is five years since he was
here last, and he did well to sell the house, for it did not bring him
in anything at all."

"What was the name of your old master?" said Monte Cristo.

"The Marquis of Saint-Meran. Ah, I am sure he has not sold the house for
what he gave for it."

"The Marquis of Saint-Meran!" returned the count. "The name is not
unknown to me; the Marquis of Saint-Meran!" and he appeared to meditate.

"An old gentleman," continued the concierge, "a stanch follower of the
Bourbons; he had an only daughter, who married M. de Villefort, who had
been the king's attorney at Nimes, and afterwards at Versailles." Monte
Cristo glanced at Bertuccio, who became whiter than the wall against
which he leaned to prevent himself from falling. "And is not this
daughter dead?" demanded Monte Cristo; "I fancy I have heard so."

"Yes, monsieur, one and twenty years ago; and since then we have not
seen the poor marquis three times."

"Thanks, thanks," said Monte Cristo, judging from the steward's utter
prostration that he could not stretch the cord further without danger of
breaking it. "Give me a light."

"Shall I accompany you, monsieur?"

"No, it is unnecessary; Bertuccio will show me a light." And Monte
Cristo accompanied these words by the gift of two gold pieces, which
produced a torrent of thanks and blessings from the concierge. "Ah,
monsieur," said he, after having vainly searched on the mantle-piece and
the shelves, "I have not got any candles."

"Take one of the carriage-lamps, Bertuccio," said the count, "and show
me the apartments." The steward obeyed in silence, but it was easy to
see, from the manner in which the hand that held the light trembled, how
much it cost him to obey. They went over a tolerably large ground-floor;
a second floor consisted of a salon, a bathroom, and two bedrooms; near
one of the bedrooms they came to a winding staircase that led down to
the garden.

"Ah, here is a private staircase," said the count; "that is convenient.
Light me, M. Bertuccio, and go first; we will see where it leads to."

"Monsieur," replied Bertuccio, "it leads to the garden."

"And, pray, how do you know that?"

"It ought to do so, at least."

"Well, let us be sure of that." Bertuccio sighed, and went on first; the
stairs did, indeed, lead to the garden. At the outer door the steward
paused. "Go on, Monsieur Bertuccio," said the count. But he who was
addressed stood there, stupefied, bewildered, stunned; his haggard eyes
glanced around, as if in search of the traces of some terrible event,
and with his clinched hands he seemed striving to shut out horrible
recollections. "Well," insisted the Count. "No, no," cried Bertuccio,
setting down the lantern at the angle of the interior wall. "No,
monsieur, it is impossible; I can go no farther."

"What does this mean?" demanded the irresistible voice of Monte Cristo.

"Why, you must see, your excellency," cried the steward, "that this is
not natural; that, having a house to purchase, you purchase it exactly
at Auteuil, and that, purchasing it at Auteuil, this house should be No.
28, Rue de la Fontaine. Oh, why did I not tell you all? I am sure you
would not have forced me to come. I hoped your house would have been
some other one than this; as if there was not another house at Auteuil
than that of the assassination!"

"What, what!" cried Monte Cristo, stopping suddenly, "what words do
you utter? Devil of a man, Corsican that you are--always mysteries or
superstitions. Come, take the lantern, and let us visit the garden; you
are not afraid of ghosts with me, I hope?" Bertuccio raised the lantern,
and obeyed. The door, as it opened, disclosed a gloomy sky, in which the
moon strove vainly to struggle through a sea of clouds that covered her
with billows of vapor which she illumined for an instant, only to
sink into obscurity. The steward wished to turn to the left. "No, no,
monsieur," said Monte Cristo. "What is the use of following the alleys?
Here is a beautiful lawn; let us go on straight forwards."

Bertuccio wiped the perspiration from his brow, but obeyed; however, he
continued to take the left hand. Monte Cristo, on the contrary, took the
right hand; arrived near a clump of trees, he stopped. The steward could
not restrain himself. "Move, monsieur--move away, I entreat you; you are
exactly in the spot!"

"What spot?"

"Where he fell."

"My dear Monsieur Bertuccio," said Monte Cristo, laughing, "control
yourself; we are not at Sartena or at Corte. This is not a Corsican
arbor, but an English garden; badly kept, I own, but still you must not
calumniate it for that."

"Monsieur, I implore you do not stay there!"

"I think you are going mad, Bertuccio," said the count coldly. "If that
is the case, I warn you, I shall have you put in a lunatic asylum."

"Alas, excellency," returned Bertuccio, joining his hands, and shaking
his head in a manner that would have excited the count's laughter,
had not thoughts of a superior interest occupied him, and rendered him
attentive to the least revelation of this timorous conscience. "Alas,
excellency, the evil has arrived!"

"M. Bertuccio," said the count, "I am very glad to tell you, that while
you gesticulate, you wring your hands and roll your eyes like a man
possessed by a devil who will not leave him; and I have always observed,
that the devil most obstinate to be expelled is a secret. I knew you
were a Corsican. I knew you were gloomy, and always brooding over some
old history of the vendetta; and I overlooked that in Italy, because
in Italy those things are thought nothing of. But in France they are
considered in very bad taste; there are gendarmes who occupy themselves
with such affairs, judges who condemn, and scaffolds which avenge."
Bertuccio clasped his hands, and as, in all these evolutions, he did not
let fall the lantern, the light showed his pale and altered countenance.
Monte Cristo examined him with the same look that, at Rome, he had bent
upon the execution of Andrea, and then, in a tone that made a shudder
pass through the veins of the poor steward,--"The Abbe Busoni, then told
me an untruth," said he, "when, after his journey in France, in 1829, he
sent you to me, with a letter of recommendation, in which he enumerated
all your valuable qualities. Well, I shall write to the abbe; I shall
hold him responsible for his protege's misconduct, and I shall soon know
all about this assassination. Only I warn you, that when I reside in
a country, I conform to all its code, and I have no wish to put myself
within the compass of the French laws for your sake."

"Oh, do not do that, excellency; I have always served you faithfully,"
cried Bertuccio, in despair. "I have always been an honest man, and, as
far as lay in my power, I have done good."

"I do not deny it," returned the count; "but why are you thus agitated.
It is a bad sign; a quiet conscience does not occasion such paleness in
the cheeks, and such fever in the hands of a man."

"But, your excellency," replied Bertuccio hesitatingly, "did not the
Abbe Busoni, who heard my confession in the prison at Nimes, tell you
that I had a heavy burden upon my conscience?"

"Yes; but as he said you would make an excellent steward, I concluded
you had stolen--that was all."

"Oh, your excellency," returned Bertuccio in deep contempt.

"Or, as you are a Corsican, that you had been unable to resist the
desire of making a 'stiff,' as you call it."

"Yes, my good master," cried Bertuccio, casting himself at the count's
feet, "it was simply vengeance--nothing else."

"I understand that, but I do not understand what it is that galvanizes
you in this manner."

"But, monsieur, it is very natural," returned Bertuccio, "since it was
in this house that my vengeance was accomplished."

"What! my house?"

"Oh, your excellency, it was not yours, then."

"Whose, then? The Marquis de Saint-Meran, I think, the concierge said.
What had you to revenge on the Marquis de Saint-Meran?"

"Oh, it was not on him, monsieur; it was on another."

"This is strange," returned Monte Cristo, seeming to yield to his
reflections, "that you should find yourself without any preparation in a
house where the event happened that causes you so much remorse."

"Monsieur," said the steward, "it is fatality, I am sure. First,
you purchase a house at Auteuil--this house is the one where I have
committed an assassination; you descend to the garden by the same
staircase by which he descended; you stop at the spot where he received
the blow; and two paces farther is the grave in which he had just buried
his child. This is not chance, for chance, in this case, is too much
like providence."

"Well, amiable Corsican, let us suppose it is providence. I always
suppose anything people please, and, besides, you must concede something
to diseased minds. Come, collect yourself, and tell me all."

"I have related it but once, and that was to the Abbe Busoni. Such
things," continued Bertuccio, shaking his head, "are only related under
the seal of confession."

"Then," said the count, "I refer you to your confessor. Turn Chartreux
or Trappist, and relate your secrets, but, as for me, I do not like
any one who is alarmed by such phantasms, and I do not choose that my
servants should be afraid to walk in the garden of an evening. I confess
I am not very desirous of a visit from the commissary of police, for, in
Italy, justice is only paid when silent--in France she is paid only
when she speaks. Peste, I thought you somewhat Corsican, a great deal
smuggler, and an excellent steward; but I see you have other strings to
your bow. You are no longer in my service, Monsieur Bertuccio."

"Oh, your excellency, your excellency!" cried the steward, struck with
terror at this threat, "if that is the only reason I cannot remain in
your service, I will tell all, for if I quit you, it will only be to go
to the scaffold."

"That is different," replied Monte Cristo; "but if you intend to tell an
untruth, reflect it were better not to speak at all."

"No, monsieur, I swear to you, by my hopes of salvation, I will tell you
all, for the Abbe Busoni himself only knew a part of my secret; but,
I pray you, go away from that plane-tree. The moon is just bursting
through the clouds, and there, standing where you do, and wrapped in
that cloak that conceals your figure, you remind me of M. de Villefort."

"What!" cried Monte Cristo, "it was M. de Villefort?"

"Your excellency knows him?"

"The former royal attorney at Nimes?"

"Yes."

"Who married the Marquis of Saint-Meran's daughter?"

"Yes."

"Who enjoyed the reputation of being the most severe, the most upright,
the most rigid magistrate on the bench?"

"Well, monsieur," said Bertuccio, "this man with this spotless
reputation"--

"Well?"

"Was a villain."

"Bah," replied Monte Cristo, "impossible!"

"It is as I tell you."

"Ah, really," said Monte Cristo. "Have you proof of this?"

"I had it."

"And you have lost it; how stupid!"

"Yes; but by careful search it might be recovered."

"Really," returned the count, "relate it to me, for it begins to
interest me." And the count, humming an air from "Lucia," went to sit
down on a bench, while Bertuccio followed him, collecting his thoughts.
Bertuccio remained standing before him.

"Where you please," returned Monte Cristo, "since I know nothing at all
of it."

"I thoug