The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) by Alexandre Dumas

Author:Alexandre Dumas [Dumas, Alexandre]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: culture, novels, classic
ISBN: 9780142000731
Publisher: Penguin Books
Published: 2001-12-31T10:00:00+00:00

LV

MAJOR CAVALCANTI

Neither the count nor Baptistin had lied when they told Morcerf that the major from Lucca was to visit, which was Monte Cristo’s excuse for refusing the invitation to dinner.

The clock had just struck seven – M. Bertuccio, as instructed, having left for Auteuil at two o’clock – when a cab drew up at the door, then hurried off, in what looked like shame, immediately after depositing at the gate a man of around fifty-two, wearing one of those green frock-coats, frogged in black, which seem in Europe to belong to an undying breed of garment. Wide blue trousers; boots still clean, although their polish was questionable and their sole a trifle too thick; suede gloves; a hat, in shape close to a gendarme’s; and a black collar edged in white which, if its owner were not wearing it by choice, might have been mistaken for an iron yoke: such was the picturesque costume worn by the person who rang the outer bell, asking if it was not here, at number 30, Avenue des Champs-Elysées, that the Count of Monte Cristo lived; and who, on receiving the answer ‘Yes’, closed the gate behind him and walked towards the front steps.

The man’s small, angular head, his greying hair and his thick, grey moustache identified him to Baptistin, who had a precise description of the visitor and was waiting for him in the hall. So, no sooner had he announced his name to the intelligent servant than Monte Cristo was informed of his arrival. The stranger was introduced into the simplest drawing-room, where the count was waiting and came to greet him with a welcoming smile.

‘My dear sir,’ he said. ‘Welcome. I was expecting you.’

‘Really?’ said the Luccan. ‘Your Excellency was expecting me?’

‘Yes, I was informed that you would be arriving this evening at seven.’

‘You were informed of my arrival?’

‘Precisely.’

‘I’m so glad. I must admit, I was afraid that they had forgotten to take that little precaution.’

‘Which one?’

‘That of informing you in advance.’

‘No, not at all.’

‘But are you sure you are not mistaken?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘I am really the person that Your Excellency was expecting today at seven?’

‘Yes, you are. In any case, we can make sure.’

‘Oh, if you were expecting me, there is no need,’ said the Luccan.

‘Yes, there is!’ said Monte Cristo. The man looked faintly uneasy.

‘Now, let’s see,’ said Monte Cristo. ‘Aren’t you the Marquis Bartolomeo Cavalcanti?’

‘Bartolomeo Cavalcanti,’ the Luccan repeated, joyfully. ‘That’s right.’

‘Formerly a major in the service of the Austrian army?’

‘Was I a major?’ the old soldier asked timidly.

‘Yes, a major,’ said Monte Cristo. ‘That is the name we give in France to the rank that you held in Italy.’

‘Very well, I ask nothing better, you understand.’

‘In any event,’ said Monte Cristo, ‘you have not come here on your own initiative.’

‘No, no, certainly not.’

‘You were sent by someone.’

‘Yes.’

‘By the good Abbé Busoni?’

‘That’s right!’ the major exclaimed delightedly.

‘Do you have a letter?’

‘Here it is.’

‘So, you see! Give it to me.’ And Monte Cristo took the letter, opened it and read it.

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