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The Count of Monte Cristo - The Rain of Blood.

1. Marseilles -- The Arrival.

2. Father and Son.

3. The Catalans.

4. Conspiracy.

5. The Marriage-Feast.

6. The Deputy Procureur du Roi.

7. The Examination.

8. The Chateau D'If.

9. The Evening of the Betrothal.

10. The King's Closet at the Tuileries.

11. The Corsican Ogre.

12. Father and Son.

13. The Hundred Days.

14. The Two Prisoners.

15. Number 34 and Number 27.

16. A Learned Italian.

17. The Abbe's Chamber.

18. The Treasure.

19. The Third Attack.

20. The Cemetery of the Chateau D'If.

21. The Island of Tiboulen.

22. The Smugglers.

23. The Island of Monte Cristo.

24. The Secret Cave.

25. The Unknown.

26. The Pont du Gard Inn.

27. The Story.

28. The Prison Register.

29. The House of Morrel & Son.

30. The Fifth of September.

31. Italy: Sinbad the Sailor.

32. The Waking.

33. Roman Bandits.

34. The Colosseum.

35. La Mazzolata.

36. The Carnival at Rome.

37. The Catacombs of Saint Sebastian.

38. The Compact.

39. The Guests.

40. The Breakfast.

41. The Presentation.

42. Monsieur Bertuccio.

43. The House at Auteuil.

44. The Vendetta.

45. The Rain of Blood.

46. Unlimited Credit.

47. The Dappled Grays.

48. Ideology.

49. Haidee.

50. The Morrel Family.

51. Pyramus and Thisbe.

52. Toxicology.

53. Robert le Diable.

54. A Flurry in Stocks.

55. Major Cavalcanti.

56. Andrea Cavalcanti.

57. In the Lucerne Patch.

58. M. Noirtier de Villefort.

59. The Will.

60. The Telegraph.

61. How a Gardener may get rid of the Dormice that eat His Peaches

62. Ghosts.

63. The Dinner.

64. The Beggar.

65. A Conjugal Scene.

66. Matrimonial Projects.

67. At the Office of the King's Attorney.

68. A Summer Ball.

69. The Inquiry.

70. The Ball.

71. Bread and Salt.

72. Madame de Saint-Meran.

73. The Promise.

74. The Villefort Family Vault.

75. A Signed Statement.

76. Progress of Cavalcanti the Younger.

77. Haidee.

78. We hear From Yanina.

79. The Lemonade.

80. The Accusation.

81. The Room of the Retired Baker.

82. The Burglary.

83. The Hand of God.

84. Beauchamp.

85. The Journey.

86. The Trial.

87. The Challenge.

88. The Insult.

89. A Nocturnal Interview.

90. The Meeting.

91. Mother and Son.

92. The Suicide.

93. Valentine.

94. Maximilian's Avowal.

95. Father and Daughter.

96. The Contract.

97. The Departure for Belgium.

98. The Bell and Bottle Tavern.

99. The Law.

100. The Apparition.

101. Locusta.

102. Valentine.

103. Maximilian.

104. Danglars Signature.

105. The Cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise.

106. Dividing the Proceeds.

107. The Lions' Den.

108. The Judge.

109. The Assizes.

110. The Indictment.

111. Expiation.

112. The Departure.

113. The Past.

114. Peppino.

115. Luigi Vampa's Bill of Fare.

116. The Pardon.

117. The Fifth of October.

"As the jeweller returned to the apartment, he cast around
him a scrutinizing glance -- but there was nothing to excite
suspicion, if it did not exist, or to confirm it, if it were
already awakened. Caderousse's hands still grasped the gold
and bank-notes, and La Carconte called up her sweetest
smiles while welcoming the reappearance of their guest.
`Well, well,' said the jeweller, `you seem, my good friends,
to have had some fears respecting the accuracy of your
money, by counting it over so carefully directly I was
gone.' -- `Oh, no,' answered Caderousse, `that was not my
reason, I can assure you; but the circumstances by which we
have become possessed of this wealth are so unexpected, as
to make us scarcely credit our good fortune, and it is only
by placing the actual proof of our riches before our eyes
that we can persuade ourselves that the whole affair is not
a dream.' The jeweller smiled. -- `Have you any other guests
in your house?' inquired he. -- `Nobody but ourselves,'
replied Caderousse; `the fact is, we do not lodge travellers
-- indeed, our tavern is so near the town, that nobody would
think of stopping here. -- `Then I am afraid I shall very
much inconvenience you.' -- `Inconvenience us? Not at all,
my dear sir,' said La Carconte in her most gracious manner.
`Not at all, I assure you.' -- `But where will you manage to
stow me?' -- `In the chamber overhead.' -- `Surely that is
where you yourselves sleep?' -- `Never mind that; we have a
second bed in the adjoining room.' Caderousse stared at his
wife with much astonishment.

"The jeweller, meanwhile, was humming a song as he stood
warming his back at the fire La Carconte had kindled to dry
the wet garments of her guest; and this done, she next
occupied herself in arranging his supper, by spreading a
napkin at the end of the table, and placing on it the
slender remains of their dinner, to which she added three or
four fresh-laid eggs. Caderousse had once more parted with
his treasure -- the banknotes were replaced in the
pocket-book, the gold put back into the bag, and the whole
carefully locked in the cupboard. He then began pacing the
room with a pensive and gloomy air, glancing from time to
time at the jeweller, who stood reeking with the steam from
his wet clothes, and merely changing his place on the warm
hearth, to enable the whole of his garments to be dried.

"`There,' said La Carconte, as she placed a bottle of wine
on the table, `supper is ready whenever you are.' -- `And
you?' asked Joannes. -- `I don't want any supper,' said
Caderousse. -- `We dined so very late,' hastily interposed
La Carconte. -- `Then it seems I am to eat alone,' remarked
the jeweller. -- `Oh, we shall have the pleasure of waiting
upon you,' answered La Carconte, with an eager attention she
was not accustomed to manifest even to guests who paid for
what they took.

"From time to time Caderousse darted on his wife keen,
searching glances, but rapid as the lightning flash. The
storm still continued. `There, there,' said La Carconte; `do
you hear that? upon my word, you did well to come back.' --
`Nevertheless,' replied the jeweller, `if by the time I have
finished my supper the tempest has at all abated, I shall
make another start.' -- `It's the mistral,' said Caderousse,
`and it will be sure to last till to-morrow morning.' He
sighed heavily. -- `Well,' said the jeweller, as he placed
himself at table, `all I can say is, so much the worse for
those who are abroad.' -- `Yes,' chimed in La Carconte,
`they will have a wretched night of it.'

"The jeweller began eating his supper, and the woman, who
was ordinarily so querulous and indifferent to all who
approached her, was suddenly transformed into the most
smiling and attentive hostess. Had the unhappy man on whom
she lavished her assiduities been previously acquainted with
her, so sudden an alteration might well have excited
suspicion in his mind, or at least have greatly astonished
him. Caderousse, meanwhile, continued to pace the room in
gloomy silence, sedulously avoiding the sight of his guest;
but as soon as the stranger had completed his repast, the
agitated inn-keeper went eagerly to the door and opened it.
`I believe the storm is over,' said he. But as if to
contradict his statement, at that instant a violent clap of
thunder seemed to shake the house to its very foundation,
while a sudden gust of wind, mingled with rain, extinguished
the lamp he held in his hand. Trembling and awe-struck,
Caderousse hastily shut the door and returned to his guest,
while La Carconte lighted a candle by the smouldering ashes
that glimmered on the hearth. `You must be tired,' said she
to the jeweller; `I have spread a pair of white sheets on
your bed; go up when you are ready, and sleep well.'

"Joannes stayed for a while to see whether the storm seemed
to abate in its fury, but a brief space of time sufficed to
assure him that, instead of diminishing, the violence of the
rain and thunder momentarily increased; resigning himself,
therefore, to what seemed inevitable, he bade his host
good-night, and mounted the stairs. He passed over my head
and I heard the flooring creak beneath his footsteps. The
quick, eager glance of La Carconte followed him as he
ascended, while Caderousse, on the contrary, turned his
back, and seemed most anxiously to avoid even glancing at

"All these circumstances did not strike me as painfully at
the time as they have since done; in fact, all that had
happened (with the exception of the story of the diamond,
which certainly did wear an air of improbability), appeared
natural enough, and called for neither apprehension nor
mistrust; but, worn out as I was with fatigue, and fully
purposing to proceed onwards directly the tempest abated, I
determined to obtain a few hours' sleep. Overhead I could
accurately distinguish every movement of the jeweller, who,
after making the best arrangements in his power for passing
a comfortable night, threw himself on his bed, and I could
hear it creak and groan beneath his weight. Insensibly my
eyelids grew heavy, deep sleep stole over me, and having no
suspicion of anything wrong, I sought not to shake it off. I
looked into the kitchen once more and saw Caderousse sitting
by the side of a long table upon one of the low wooden
stools which in country places are frequently used instead
of chairs; his back was turned towards me, so that I could
not see the expression of his countenance -- neither should
I have been able to do so had he been placed differently, as
his head was buried between his two hands. La Carconte
continued to gaze on him for some time, then shrugging her
shoulders, she took her seat immediately opposite to him. At
this moment the expiring embers threw up a fresh flame from
the kindling of a piece of wood that lay near, and a bright
light flashed over the room. La Carconte still kept her eyes
fixed on her husband, but as he made no sign of changing his
position, she extended her hard, bony hand, and touched him
on the forehead.

"Caderousse shuddered. The woman's lips seemed to move, as
though she were talking; but because she merely spoke in an
undertone, or my senses were dulled by sleep, I did not
catch a word she uttered. Confused sights and sounds seemed
to float before me, and gradually I fell into a deep, heavy
slumber. How long I had been in this unconscious state I
know not, when I was suddenly aroused by the report of a
pistol, followed by a fearful cry. Weak and tottering
footsteps resounded across the chamber above me, and the
next instant a dull, heavy weight seemed to fall powerless
on the staircase. I had not yet fully recovered
consciousness, when again I heard groans, mingled with
half-stifled cries, as if from persons engaged in a deadly
struggle. A cry more prolonged than the others and ending in
a series of groans effectually roused me from my drowsy
lethargy. Hastily raising myself on one arm, I looked
around, but all was dark; and it seemed to me as if the rain
must have penetrated through the flooring of the room above,
for some kind of moisture appeared to fall, drop by drop,
upon my forehead, and when I passed my hand across my brow,
I felt that it was wet and clammy.

"To the fearful noises that had awakened me had succeeded
the most perfect silence -- unbroken, save by the footsteps
of a man walking about in the chamber above. The staircase
creaked, he descended into the room below, approached the
fire and lit a candle. The man was Caderousse -- he was pale
and his shirt was all blood. Having obtained the light, he
hurried up-stairs again, and once more I heard his rapid and
uneasy footsteps. A moment later he came down again, holding
in his hand the small shagreen case, which he opened, to
assure himself it contained the diamond, -- seemed to
hesitate as to which pocket he should put it in, then, as if
dissatisfied with the security of either pocket, he
deposited it in his red handkerchief, which he carefully
rolled round his head. After this he took from his cupboard
the bank-notes and gold he had put there, thrust the one
into the pocket of his trousers, and the other into that of
his waistcoat, hastily tied up a small bundle of linen, and
rushing towards the door, disappeared in the darkness of the

"Then all became clear and manifest to me, and I reproached
myself with what had happened, as though I myself had done
the guilty deed. I fancied that I still heard faint moans,
and imagining that the unfortunate jeweller might not be
quite dead, I determined to go to his relief, by way of
atoning in some slight degree, not for the crime I had
committed, but for that which I had not endeavored to
prevent. For this purpose I applied all the strength I
possessed to force an entrance from the cramped spot in
which I lay to the adjoining room. The poorly fastened
boards which alone divided me from it yielded to my efforts,
and I found myself in the house. Hastily snatching up the
lighted candle, I hurried to the staircase; about midway a
body was lying quite across the stairs. It was that of La
Carconte. The pistol I had heard had doubtless been fired at
her. The shot had frightfully lacerated her throat, leaving
two gaping wounds from which, as well as the mouth, the
blood was pouring in floods. She was stone dead. I strode
past her, and ascended to the sleeping chamber, which
presented an appearance of the wildest disorder. The
furniture had been knocked over in the deadly struggle that
had taken place there, and the sheets, to which the
unfortunate jeweller had doubtless clung, were dragged
across the room. The murdered man lay on the floor, his head
leaning against the wall, and about him was a pool of blood
which poured forth from three large wounds in his breast;
there was a fourth gash, in which a long table knife was
plunged up to the handle.

"I stumbled over some object; I stooped to examine -- it was
the second pistol, which had not gone off, probably from the
powder being wet. I approached the jeweller, who was not
quite dead, and at the sound of my footsteps and the
creaking of the floor, he opened his eyes, fixed them on me
with an anxious and inquiring gaze, moved his lips as though
trying to speak, then, overcome by the effort, fell back and
expired. This appalling sight almost bereft me of my senses,
and finding that I could no longer be of service to any one
in the house, my only desire was to fly. I rushed towards
the staircase, clutching my hair, and uttering a groan of
horror. Upon reaching the room below, I found five or six
custom-house officers, and two or three gendarmes -- all
heavily armed. They threw themselves upon me. I made no
resistance; I was no longer master of my senses. When I
strove to speak, a few inarticulate sounds alone escaped my

"As I noticed the significant manner in which the whole
party pointed to my blood-stained garments, I involuntarily
surveyed myself, and then I discovered that the thick warm
drops that had so bedewed me as I lay beneath the staircase
must have been the blood of La Carconte. I pointed to the
spot where I had concealed myself. `What does he mean?'
asked a gendarme. One of the officers went to the place I
directed. `He means,' replied the man upon his return, `that
he got in that way;' and he showed the hole I had made when
I broke through.

"Then I saw that they took me for the assassin. I recovered
force and energy enough to free myself from the hands of
those who held me, while I managed to stammer forth -- `I
did not do it! Indeed, indeed I did not!' A couple of
gendarmes held the muzzles of their carbines against my
breast. -- `Stir but a step,' said they, `and you are a dead
man.' -- `Why should you threaten me with death,' cried I,
`when I have already declared my innocence?' -- `Tush,
tush,' cried the men; `keep your innocent stories to tell to
the judge at Nimes. Meanwhile, come along with us; and the
best advice we can give you is to do so unresistingly.'
Alas, resistance was far from my thoughts. I was utterly
overpowered by surprise and terror; and without a word I
suffered myself to be handcuffed and tied to a horse's tail,
and thus they took me to Nimes.

"I had been tracked by a customs-officer, who had lost sight
of me near the tavern; feeling certain that I intended to
pass the night there, he had returned to summon his
comrades, who just arrived in time to hear the report of the
pistol, and to take me in the midst of such circumstantial
proofs of my guilt as rendered all hopes of proving my
innocence utterly futile. One only chance was left me, that
of beseeching the magistrate before whom I was taken to
cause every inquiry to be made for the Abbe Busoni, who had
stopped at the inn of the Pont du Gard on that morning. If
Caderousse had invented the story relative to the diamond,
and there existed no such person as the Abbe Busoni, then,
indeed, I was lost past redemption, or, at least, my life
hung upon the feeble chance of Caderousse himself being
apprehended and confessing the whole truth. Two months
passed away in hopeless expectation on my part, while I must
do the magistrate the justice to say that he used every
means to obtain information of the person I declared could
exculpate me if he would. Caderousse still evaded all
pursuit, and I had resigned myself to what seemed my
inevitable fate. My trial was to come on at the approaching
assizes; when, on the 8th of September -- that is to say,
precisely three months and five days after the events which
had perilled my life -- the Abbe Busoni, whom I never
ventured to believe I should see, presented himself at the
prison doors, saying he understood one of the prisoners
wished to speak to him; he added, that having learned at
Marseilles the particulars of my imprisonment, he hastened
to comply with my desire. You may easily imagine with what
eagerness I welcomed him, and how minutely I related the
whole of what I had seen and heard. I felt some degree of
nervousness as I entered upon the history of the diamond,
but, to my inexpressible astonishment, he confirmed it in
every particular, and to my equal surprise, he seemed to
place entire belief in all I said. And then it was that, won
by his mild charity, seeing that he was acquainted with all
the habits and customs of my own country, and considering
also that pardon for the only crime of which I was really
guilty might come with a double power from lips so
benevolent and kind, I besought him to receive my
confession, under the seal of which I recounted the Auteuil
affair in all its details, as well as every other
transaction of my life. That which I had done by the impulse
of my best feelings produced the same effect as though it
had been the result of calculation. My voluntary confession
of the assassination at Auteuil proved to him that I had not
committed that of which I stood accused. When he quitted me,
he bade me be of good courage, and to rely upon his doing
all in his power to convince my judges of my innocence.

"I had speedy proofs that the excellent abbe was engaged in
my behalf, for the rigors of my imprisonment were alleviated
by many trifling though acceptable indulgences, and I was
told that my trial was to be postponed to the assizes
following those now being held. In the interim it pleased
providence to cause the apprehension of Caderousse, who was
discovered in some distant country, and brought back to
France, where he made a full confession, refusing to make
the fact of his wife's having suggested and arranged the
murder any excuse for his own guilt. The wretched man was
sentenced to the galleys for life, and I was immediately set
at liberty."

"And then it was, I presume," said Monte Cristo "that you
came to me as the bearer of a letter from the Abbe Busoni?"

"It was, your excellency; the benevolent abbe took an
evident interest in all that concerned me.

"`Your mode of life as a smuggler,' said he to me one day,
`will be the ruin of you; if you get out, don't take it up
again.' -- `But how,' inquired I, `am I to maintain myself
and my poor sister?'

"`A person, whose confessor I am,' replied he, `and who
entertains a high regard for me, applied to me a short time
since to procure him a confidential servant. Would you like
such a post? If so, I will give you a letter of introduction
to him.' -- `Oh, father,' I exclaimed, `you are very good.'

"`But you must swear solemnly that I shall never have reason
to repent my recommendation.' I extended my hand, and was
about to pledge myself by any promise he would dictate, but
he stopped me. `It is unnecessary for you to bind yourself
by any vow,' said he; `I know and admire the Corsican nature
too well to fear you. Here, take this,' continued he, after
rapidly writing the few lines I brought to your excellency,
and upon receipt of which you deigned to receive me into
your service, and proudly I ask whether your excellency has
ever had cause to repent having done so?"

"No," replied the count; "I take pleasure in saying that you
have served me faithfully, Bertuccio; but you might have
shown more confidence in me."

"I, your excellency?"

"Yes; you. How comes it, that having both a sister and an
adopted son, you have never spoken to me of either?"

"Alas, I have still to recount the most distressing period
of my life. Anxious as you may suppose I was to behold and
comfort my dear sister, I lost no time in hastening to
Corsica, but when I arrived at Rogliano I found a house of
mourning, the consequences of a scene so horrible that the
neighbors remember and speak of it to this day. Acting by my
advice, my poor sister had refused to comply with the
unreasonable demands of Benedetto, who was continually
tormenting her for money, as long as he believed there was a
sou left in her possession. One morning that he had demanded
money, threatening her with the severest consequences if she
did not supply him with what he desired, he disappeared and
remained away all day, leaving the kind-hearted Assunta, who
loved him as if he were her own child, to weep over his
conduct and bewail his absence. Evening came, and still,
with all the patient solicitude of a mother, she watched for
his return.

"As the eleventh hour struck, he entered with a swaggering
air, attended by two of the most dissolute and reckless of
his boon companions. She stretched out her arms to him, but
they seized hold of her, and one of the three -- none other
than the accursed Benedetto exclaimed, -- `Put her to
torture and she'll soon tell us where her money is.'

"It unfortunately happened that our neighbor, Vasilio, was
at Bastia, leaving no person in his house but his wife; no
human creature beside could hear or see anything that took
place within our dwelling. Two held poor Assunta, who,
unable to conceive that any harm was intended to her, smiled
in the face of those who were soon to become her
executioners. The third proceeded to barricade the doors and
windows, then returned, and the three united in stifling the
cries of terror incited by the sight of these preparations,
and then dragged Assunta feet foremost towards the brazier,
expecting to wring from her an avowal of where her supposed
treasure was secreted. In the struggle her clothes caught
fire, and they were obliged to let go their hold in order to
preserve themselves from sharing the same fate. Covered with
flames, Assunta rushed wildly to the door, but it was
fastened; she flew to the windows, but they were also
secured; then the neighbors heard frightful shrieks; it was
Assunta calling for help. The cries died away in groans, and
next morning, as soon as Vasilio's wife could muster up
courage to venture abroad, she caused the door of our
dwelling to be opened by the public authorities, when
Assunta, although dreadfully burnt, was found still
breathing; every drawer and closet in the house had been
forced open, and the money stolen. Benedetto never again
appeared at Rogliano, neither have I since that day either
seen or heard anything concerning him.

"It was subsequently to these dreadful events that I waited
on your excellency, to whom it would have been folly to have
mentioned Benedetto, since all trace of him seemed entirely
lost; or of my sister, since she was dead."

"And in what light did you view the occurrence?" inquired
Monte Cristo.

"As a punishment for the crime I had committed," answered
Bertuccio. "Oh, those Villeforts are an accursed race!"

"Truly they are," murmured the count in a lugubrious tone.

"And now," resumed Bertuccio, "your excellency may, perhaps,
be able to comprehend that this place, which I revisit for
the first time -- this garden, the actual scene of my crime
-- must have given rise to reflections of no very agreeable
nature, and produced that gloom and depression of spirits
which excited the notice of your excellency, who was pleased
to express a desire to know the cause. At this instant a
shudder passes over me as I reflect that possibly I am now
standing on the very grave in which lies M. de Villefort, by
whose hand the ground was dug to receive the corpse of his

"Everything is possible," said Monte Cristo, rising from the
bench on which he had been sitting; "even," he added in an
inaudible voice, "even that the procureur be not dead. The
Abbe Busoni did right to send you to me," he went on in his
ordinary tone, "and you have done well in relating to me the
whole of your history, as it will prevent my forming any
erroneous opinions concerning you in future. As for that
Benedetto, who so grossly belied his name, have you never
made any effort to trace out whither he has gone, or what
has become of him?"

"No; far from wishing to learn whither he has betaken
himself, I should shun the possibility of meeting him as I
would a wild beast. Thank God, I have never heard his name
mentioned by any person, and I hope and believe he is dead."

"Do not think so, Bertuccio," replied the count; "for the
wicked are not so easily disposed of, for God seems to have
them under his special watch-care to make of them
instruments of his vengeance."

"So be it," responded Bertuccio, "all I ask of heaven is
that I may never see him again. And now, your excellency,"
he added, bowing his head, "you know everything -- you are
my judge on earth, as the Almighty is in heaven; have you
for me no words of consolation?"

"My good friend, I can only repeat the words addressed to
you by the Abbe Busoni. Villefort merited punishment for
what he had done to you, and, perhaps, to others. Benedetto,
if still living, will become the instrument of divine
retribution in some way or other, and then be duly punished
in his turn. As far as you yourself are concerned, I see but
one point in which you are really guilty. Ask yourself,
wherefore, after rescuing the infant from its living grave,
you did not restore it to its mother? There was the crime,
Bertuccio -- that was where you became really culpable."

"True, excellency, that was the crime, the real crime, for
in that I acted like a coward. My first duty, directly I had
succeeded in recalling the babe to life, was to restore it
to its mother; but, in order to do so, I must have made
close and careful inquiry, which would, in all probability,
have led to my own apprehension; and I clung to life, partly
on my sister's account, and partly from that feeling of
pride inborn in our hearts of desiring to come off untouched
and victorious in the execution of our vengeance. Perhaps,
too, the natural and instinctive love of life made me wish
to avoid endangering my own. And then, again, I am not as
brave and courageous as was my poor brother." Bertuccio hid
his face in his hands as he uttered these words, while Monte
Cristo fixed on him a look of inscrutable meaning. After a
brief silence, rendered still more solemn by the time and
place, the count said, in a tone of melancholy wholly unlike
his usual manner, "In order to bring this conversation to a
fitting termination (the last we shall ever hold upon this
subject), I will repeat to you some words I have heard from
the lips of the Abbe Busoni. For all evils there are two
remedies -- time and silence. And now leave me, Monsieur
Bertuccio, to walk alone here in the garden. The very
circumstances which inflict on you, as a principal in the
tragic scene enacted here, such painful emotions, are to me,
on the contrary, a source of something like contentment, and
serve but to enhance the value of this dwelling in my
estimation. The chief beauty of trees consists in the deep
shadow of their umbrageous boughs, while fancy pictures a
moving multitude of shapes and forms flitting and passing
beneath that shade. Here I have a garden laid out in such a
way as to afford the fullest scope for the imagination, and
furnished with thickly grown trees, beneath whose leafy
screen a visionary like myself may conjure up phantoms at
will. This to me, who expected but to find a blank enclosure
surrounded by a straight wall, is, I assure you, a most
agreeable surprise. I have no fear of ghosts, and I have
never heard it said that so much harm had been done by the
dead during six thousand years as is wrought by the living
in a single day. Retire within, Bertuccio, and tranquillize
your mind. Should your confessor be less indulgent to you in
your dying moments than you found the Abbe Busoni, send for
me, if I am still on earth, and I will soothe your ears with
words that shall effectually calm and soothe your parting
soul ere it goes forth to traverse the ocean called

Bertuccio bowed respectfully, and turned away, sighing
heavily. Monte Cristo, left alone, took three or four steps
onwards, and murmured, "Here, beneath this plane-tree, must
have been where the infant's grave was dug. There is the
little door opening into the garden. At this corner is the
private staircase communicating with the sleeping apartment.
There will be no necessity for me to make a note of these
particulars, for there, before my eyes, beneath my feet, all
around me, I have the plan sketched with all the living
reality of truth." After making the tour of the garden a
second time, the count re-entered his carriage, while
Bertuccio, who perceived the thoughtful expression of his
master's features, took his seat beside the driver without
uttering a word. The carriage proceeded rapidly towards

That same evening, upon reaching his abode in the Champs
Elysees, the Count of Monte Cristo went over the whole
building with the air of one long acquainted with each nook
or corner. Nor, although preceding the party, did he once
mistake one door for another, or commit the smallest error
when choosing any particular corridor or staircase to
conduct him to a place or suite of rooms he desired to
visit. Ali was his principal attendant during this nocturnal
survey. Having given various orders to Bertuccio relative to
the improvements and alterations he desired to make in the
house, the Count, drawing out his watch, said to the
attentive Nubian, "It is half-past eleven o'clock; Haidee
will soon he here. Have the French attendants been summoned
to await her coming?" Ali extended his hands towards the
apartments destined for the fair Greek, which were so
effectually concealed by means of a tapestried entrance,
that it would have puzzled the most curious to have divined
their existence. Ali, having pointed to the apartments, held
up three fingers of his right hand, and then, placing it
beneath his head, shut his eyes, and feigned to sleep. "I
understand," said Monte Cristo, well acquainted with Ali's
pantomime; "you mean to tell me that three female attendants
await their new mistress in her sleeping-chamber." Ali, with
considerable animation, made a sign in the affirmative.

"Madame will be tired to-night," continued Monte Cristo,
"and will, no doubt, wish to rest. Desire the French
attendants not to weary her with questions, but merely to
pay their respectful duty and retire. You will also see that
the Greek servants hold no communication with those of this
country." He bowed. Just at that moment voices were heard
hailing the concierge. The gate opened, a carriage rolled
down the avenue, and stopped at the steps. The count hastily
descended, presented himself at the already opened carriage
door, and held out his hand to a young woman, completely
enveloped in a green silk mantle heavily embroidered with
gold. She raised the hand extended towards her to her lips,
and kissed it with a mixture of love and respect. Some few
words passed between them in that sonorous language in which
Homer makes his gods converse. The young woman spoke with an
expression of deep tenderness, while the count replied with
an air of gentle gravity. Preceded by Ali, who carried a
rose-colored flambeau in his hand, the new-comer, who was no
other than the lovely Greek who had been Monte Cristo's
companion in Italy, was conducted to her apartments, while
the count retired to the pavilion reserved for himself. In
another hour every light in the house was extinguished, and
it might have been thought that all its inmates slept.

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