The Count of Monte Cristo

Both the count and Baptistin had told the truth when they announced to Morcerf the proposed visit of the major, which had served Monte Cristo as a pretext for declining Albert’s invitation. Seven o’clock had just struck, and M. Bertuccio, according to the command which had been given him, had two hours before left for Auteuil, when a cab stopped at the door, and after depositing its occupant at the gate, immediately hurried away, as if ashamed of its employment. The visitor was about fifty-two years of age, dressed in one of the green surtouts, ornamented with black frogs, which have so long maintained their popularity all over Europe. He wore trousers of blue cloth, boots tolerably clean, but not of the brightest polish, and a little too thick in the soles, buckskin gloves, a hat somewhat resembling in shape those usually worn by the gendarmes, and a black cravat striped with white, which, if the proprietor had not worn it of his own free will, might have passed for a halter, so much did it resemble one. Such was the picturesque costume of the person who rang at the gate, and demanded if it was not at No. 30 in the Avenue des Champs-Élysées that the Count of Monte Cristo lived, and who, being answered by the porter in the affirmative, entered, closed the gate after him, and began to ascend the steps. The small and angular head of this man, his white hair and thick gray moustaches, 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 today 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.” 30119m “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...