the gate after him, and began to ascend the steps.
The small and angular head of this man, his white hair and thick gray
mustaches, caused him to be easily recognized by Baptistin, who had
received an exact description of the expected visitor, and who was
awaiting him in the hall. Therefore, scarcely had the stranger time to
pronounce his name before the count was apprised of his arrival. He was
ushered into a simple and elegant drawing-room, and the count rose to
meet him with a smiling air. "Ah, my dear sir, you are most welcome; I
was expecting you."
"Indeed," said the Italian, "was your excellency then aware of my
visit?"
"Yes; I had been told that I should see you to-day at seven o'clock."
"Then you have received full information concerning my arrival?"
"Of course."
"Ah, so much the better, I feared this little precaution might have been
forgotten."
"What precaution?"
"That of informing you beforehand of my coming."
"Oh, no, it has not."
"But you are sure you are not mistaken."
"Very sure."
"It really was I whom your excellency expected at seven o'clock this
evening?"
"I will prove it to you beyond a doubt."
"Oh, no, never mind that," said the Italian; "it is not worth the
trouble."
"Yes, yes," said Monte Cristo. His visitor appeared slightly uneasy.
"Let me see," said the count; "are you not the Marquis Bartolomeo
Cavalcanti?"
"Bartolomeo Cavalcanti," joyfully replied the Italian; "yes, I am really
he."
"Ex-major in the Austrian service?"
"Was I a major?" timidly asked the old soldier.
"Yes," said Monte Cristo "you were a major; that is the title the French
give to the post which you filled in Italy."
"Very good," said the major, "I do not demand more, you understand"--
"Your visit here to-day is not of your own suggestion, is it?" said
Monte Cristo.
"No, certainly not."
"You were sent by some other person?"
"Yes."
"By the excellent Abbe Busoni?"
"Exactly so," said the delighted major.
"And you have a letter?"
"Yes, there it is."
"Give it me, then;" and Monte Cristo took the letter, which he opened
and read. The major looked at the count with his large staring eyes,
and then took a survey of the apartment, but his gaze almost immediately
reverted to the proprietor of the room. "Yes, yes, I see. 'Major
Cavalcanti, a worthy patrician of Lucca, a descendant of the Cavalcanti
of Florence,'" continued Monte Cristo, reading aloud, "'possessing an
income of half a million.'" Monte Cristo raised his eyes from the paper,
and bowed. "Half a million," said he, "magnificent!"
"Half a million, is it?" said the major.
"Yes, in so many words; and it must be so, for the abbe knows correctly
the amount of all the largest fortunes in Europe."
"Be it half a million, then; but on my word of honor, I had no idea that
it was so much."
"Because you are robbed by your steward. You must make some reformation
in that quarter."
"You have opened my eyes," said the Italian gravely; "I will show the
gentlemen the door." Monte Cristo resumed the perusal of the letter:--
"'And who only needs one thing more to make him happy.'"
"Yes, indeed but one!" said the major with a sigh.
"'Which is to recover a lost and adored son.'"
"A lost and adored son!"
"'Stolen away in his infancy, either by an enemy of his noble family or
by the gypsies.'"
"At the age of five years!" said the major with a deep sigh, and raising
his eye to heaven.
"Unhappy father," said Monte Cristo. The count continued:--
"'I have given him renewed life and hope, in the assurance that you have
the power of restoring the son whom he has vainly sought for fifteen
years.'" The major looked at the count with an indescribable expression
of anxiety. "I have the power of so doing," said Monte Cristo. The major
recovered his self-possession. "So, then," said he, "the letter was true
to the end?"
"Did you doubt it, my dear Monsieur Bartolomeo?"
"No, indeed; certainly not; a good man, a man holding religious office,
as does the Abbe Busoni, could not condescend to deceive or play off a
joke; but your excellency has not read all."
"Ah, true," said Monte Cristo "there is a postscript."
"Yes, yes," repeated the major, "yes--there--is--a--postscript."
"'In order to save Major Cavalcanti the trouble of drawing on his
banker, I send him a draft for 2,000 francs to defray his travelling
expenses, and credit on you for the further sum of 48,000 francs, which
you still owe me.'" The major awaited the conclusion of the postscript,
apparently with great anxiety. "Very good," said the count.
"He said 'very good,'" muttered the major, "then--sir"--replied he.
"Then what?" asked Monte Cristo.
"Then the postscript"--
"Well; what of the postscript?"
"Then the postscript is as favorably received by you as the rest of the
letter?"
"Certainly; the Abbe Busoni and myself have a small account open between
us. I do not remember if it is exactly 48,000. francs, which I am still
owing him, but I dare say we shall not dispute the difference. You
attached great importance, then, to this postscript, my dear Monsieur
Cavalcanti?"
"I must explain to you," said the major, "that, fully confiding in the
signature of the Abbe Busoni, I had not provided myself with any other
funds; so that if this resource had failed me, I should have found
myself very unpleasantly situated in Paris."
"Is it possible that a man of your standing should be embarrassed
anywhere?" said Monte Cristo.
"Why, really I know no one," said the major.
"But then you yourself are known to others?"
"Yes, I am known, so that"--
"Proceed, my dear Monsieur Cavalcanti."
"So that you will remit to me these 48,000 francs?"
"Certainly, at your first request." The major's eyes dilated with
pleasing astonishment. "But sit down," said Monte Cristo; "really I
do not know what I have been thinking of--I have positively kept you
standing for the last quarter of an hour."
"Don't mention it." The major drew an arm-chair towards him, and
proceeded to seat himself.
"Now," said the count, "what will you take--a glass of port, sherry, or
Alicante?"
"Alicante, if you please; it is my favorite wine."
"I have some that is very good. You will take a biscuit with it, will
you not?"
"Yes, I will take a biscuit, as you are so obliging."
Monte Cristo rang; Baptistin appeared. The count advanced to meet him.
"Well?" said he in a low voice. "The young man is here," said the valet
de chambre in the same tone.
"Into what room did you take him?"
"Into the blue drawing-room, according to your excellency's orders."
"That's right; now bring the Alicante and some biscuits."
Baptistin left the room. "Really," said the major, "I am quite ashamed
of the trouble I am giving you."
"Pray don't mention such a thing," said the count. Baptistin re-entered
with glasses, wine, and biscuits. The count filled one glass, but in the
other he only poured a few drops of the ruby-colored liquid. The bottle
was covered with spiders' webs, and all the other signs which indicate
the age of wine more truly than do wrinkles on a man's face. The major
made a wise choice; he took the full glass and a biscuit. The count told
Baptistin to leave the plate within reach of his guest, who began by
sipping the Alicante with an expression of great satisfaction, and then
delicately steeped his biscuit in the wine.
"So, sir, you lived at Lucca, did you? You were rich, noble, held in
great esteem--had all that could render a man happy?"
"All," said the major, hastily swallowing his biscuit, "positively all."
"And yet there was one thing wanting in order to complete your
happiness?"
"Only one thing," said the Italian.
"And that one thing, your lost child."
"Ah," said the major, taking a second biscuit, "that consummation of
my happiness was indeed wanting." The worthy major raised his eyes to
heaven and sighed.
"Let me hear, then," said the count, "who this deeply regretted son was;
for I always understood you were a bachelor."
"That was the general opinion, sir," said the major, "and I"--
"Yes," replied the count, "and you confirmed the report. A youthful
indiscretion, I suppose, which you were anxious to conceal from the
world at large?" The major recovered himself, and resumed his usual calm
manner, at the same time casting his eyes down, either to give himself
time to compose his countenance, or to assist his imagination, all the
while giving an under-look at the count, the protracted smile on whose
lips still announced the same polite curiosity. "Yes," said the major,
"I did wish this fault to be hidden from every eye."
"Not on your own account, surely," replied Monte Cristo; "for a man is
above that sort of thing?"
"Oh, no, certainly not on my own account," said the major with a smile
and a shake of the head.
"But for the sake of the mother?" said the count.
"Yes, for the mother's sake--his poor mother!" cried the major, taking a
third biscuit.
"Take some more wine, my dear Cavalcanti," said the count, pouring out
for him a second glass of Alicante; "your emotion has quite overcome
you."
"His poor mother," murmured the major, trying to get the lachrymal gland
in operation, so as to moisten the corner of his eye with a false tear.
"She belonged to one of the first families in Italy, I think, did she
not?"
"She was of a noble family of Fiesole, count."
"And her name was"--
"Do you desire to know her name?"--
"Oh," said Monte Cristo "it would be quite superfluous for you to tell
me, for I already know it."
"The count knows everything," said the Italian, bowing.
"Oliva Corsinari, was it not?"
"Oliva Corsinari."
"A marchioness?"
"A marchioness."
"And you married her at last, notwithstanding the opposition of her
family?"
"Yes, that was the way it ended."
"And you have doubtless brought all your papers with you?" said Monte
Cristo.
"What papers?"
"The certificate of your marriage with Oliva Corsinari, and the register
of your child's birth."
"The register of my child's birth?"
"The register of the birth of Andrea Cavalcanti--of your son; is not his
name Andrea?"
"I believe so," said the major.
"What? You believe so?"
"I dare not positively assert it, as he has been lost for so long a
time."
"Well, then," said Monte Cristo "you have all the documents with you?"
"Your excellency, I regret to say that, not knowing it was necessary to
come provided with these papers, I neglected to bring them."
"That is unfortunate," returned Monte Cristo.
"Were they, then, so necessary?"
"They were indispensable."
The major passed his hand across his brow. "Ah, per Bacco,
indispensable, were they?"
"Certainly they were; supposing there were to be doubts raised as to the
validity of your marriage or the legitimacy of your child?"
"True," said the major, "there might be doubts raised."
"In that case your son would be very unpleasantly situated."
"It would be fatal to his interests."
"It might cause him to fail in some desirable matrimonial alliance."
"O peccato!"
"You must know that in France they are very particular on these points;
it is not sufficient, as in Italy, to go to the priest and say, 'We love
each other, and want you to marry us.' Marriage is a civil affair in
France, and in order to marry in an orthodox manner you must have papers
which undeniably establish your identity."
"That is the misfortune! You see I have not these necessary papers."
"Fortunately, I have them, though," said Monte Cristo.
"You?"
"Yes."
"You have them?"
"I have them."
"Ah, indeed?" said the major, who, seeing the object of his journey
frustrated by the absence of the papers, feared also that his
forgetfulness might give rise to some difficulty concerning the 48,000
francs--"ah, indeed, that is a fortunate circumstance; yes, that really
is lucky, for it never occurred to me to bring them."
"I do not at all wonder at it--one cannot think of everything; but,
happily, the Abbe Busoni thought for you."
"He is an excellent person."
"He is extremely prudent and thoughtful."
"He is an admirable man," said the major; "and he sent them to you?"
"Here they are."
The major clasped his hands in token of admiration. "You married Oliva
Corsinari in the church of San Paolo del Monte-Cattini; here is the
