part of the deed in which were
specified the situation of the house and the names of the proprietors.
"Bertuccio," said he, "give fifty-five thousand francs to monsieur." The
steward left the room with a faltering step, and returned with a bundle
of bank-notes, which the notary counted like a man who never gives a
receipt for money until after he is sure it is all there. "And now,"
demanded the count, "are all the forms complied with?"

"All, sir."

"Have you the keys?"

"They 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."

"Very well;" and Monte Cristo made a sign with his hand to the notary,
which said, "I have no further need of you; you may go."

"But," observed the honest notary, "the count is, I think, mistaken; it
is only fifty thousand francs, everything included."

"And your fee?"

"Is included in this sum."

"But have you not come from Auteuil here?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Well, 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. "See
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.
"'Auteuil, Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28;' it is indeed the same," said he;
"and 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.
"Bertuccio!" The steward appeared at the door. "Monsieur Bertuccio,"
said the count, "did you never tell me that you had travelled in
France?"

"In some parts of France--yes, excellency."

"You know the environs of Paris, then?"

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

"It is unfortunate," returned he, "that you have never visited the
environs,