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I have never before been at Paris, and it is the first time I have ever even set my foot in France.”

β€œAh, that is different; the house you purchase is at Auteuil.”

At these words Bertuccio turned pale.

β€œAnd where is Auteuil?” asked the count.

β€œClose by here, monsieur,” replied the notaryβ β€”β€œa little beyond Passy; a charming situation, in the heart of the Bois de Boulogne.”

β€œSo near as that?” said the Count; β€œbut that is not in the country. What made you choose a house at the gates of Paris, M. Bertuccio?”

β€œI,” cried the steward with a strange expression. β€œHis excellency did not charge me to purchase this house. If his excellency will recollect⁠—if he will think⁠—”

β€œAh, true,” observed Monte Cristo; β€œI recollect now. I read the advertisement in one of the papers, and was tempted by the false title, β€˜a country house.β€™β€Šβ€

β€œIt is not yet too late,” cried Bertuccio, eagerly; β€œand if your excellency will entrust me with the commission, I will find you a better at Enghien, at Fontenay-aux-Roses, or at Bellevue.”

β€œOh, no,” returned Monte Cristo negligently; β€œsince I have this, I will keep it.”

β€œAnd you are quite right,” said the notary, who feared to lose his fee. β€œIt 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?”

β€œTo be sure,” returned Monte Cristo; β€œit is very convenient, then?”

β€œIt is more⁠—it is magnificent.”

β€œPeste! let us not lose such an opportunity,” returned Monte Cristo. β€œThe 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.

β€œBertuccio,” said he, β€œgive fifty-five thousand francs to monsieur.”

The steward left the room with a faltering step, and returned with a bundle of banknotes, which the notary counted like a man who never gives a receipt for money until after he is sure it is all there.

β€œAnd now,” demanded the count, β€œare all the forms complied with?”

β€œAll, sir.”

β€œHave you the keys?”

β€œThey 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.”

β€œVery well”; and Monte Cristo made a sign with his hand to the notary, which said, β€œI have no further need of you; you may go.”

β€œBut,” observed the honest notary, β€œthe count is, I think, mistaken; it is only fifty thousand francs, everything included.”

β€œAnd your fee?”

β€œIs included in this sum.”

β€œBut have you not come from Auteuil here?”

β€œYes, certainly.”

β€œWell, 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.

β€œSee 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, and recalling his souvenirs⁠—

β€œβ€Šβ€˜Auteuil, Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28’; it is indeed the same,” said he; β€œand 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. β€œBertuccio!”

The steward appeared at the door.

β€œMonsieur Bertuccio,” said the count, β€œdid you never tell me that you had travelled in France?”

β€œIn some parts of France⁠—yes, excellency.”

β€œYou know the environs of Paris, then?”

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

β€œIt is unfortunate,” returned he, β€œthat 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.”

β€œTo Auteuil!” cried Bertuccio, whose copper complexion became lividβ β€”β€œI go to Auteuil?”

β€œWell, 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.

β€œWhy, 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, β€œI have been almost obliged to wait.” Bertuccio made but one bound to the antechamber, and cried in a hoarse voice:

β€œHis excellency’s horses!”

Monte Cristo wrote two or three notes, and, as he sealed the last, the steward appeared.

β€œYour excellency’s carriage is at the door,” said he.

β€œWell, take your hat and gloves,” returned Monte Cristo.

β€œAm I to accompany you, your excellency?” cried Bertuccio.

β€œCertainly, 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.

XLIII The House at Auteuil

Monte Cristo noticed, as they descended the staircase, that Bertuccio signed himself in the Corsican manner; that is, had formed the sign of the cross in the air with his thumb, and as he seated himself in the carriage, muttered a short prayer. Anyone but a man of exhaustless thirst for knowledge would have had

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