for I wish to see my new property this evening, and had you
gone with me, you could have given me some useful information."

"To Auteuil!" cried Bertuccio, whose copper complexion became livid--"I
go to Auteuil?"

"Well, 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. "Why, 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, "I
have been almost obliged to wait." Bertuccio made but one bound to the
ante-chamber, and cried in a hoarse voice--"His excellency's horses!"
Monte Cristo wrote two or three notes, and, as he sealed the last, the
steward appeared. "Your excellency's carriage is at the door," said he.

"Well, take your hat and gloves," returned Monte Cristo.

"Am I to accompany you, your excellency?" cried Bertuccio.

"Certainly, 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.

Chapter 43. 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. Any one but a man of exhaustless
thirst for knowledge would have had pity on seeing the steward's
extraordinary repugnance for the count's projected drive without the
walls; but the Count was too curious to let Bertuccio off from this
little journey. In twenty minutes they were at Auteuil; the steward's
emotion had continued to augment as they entered the village. Bertuccio,
crouched in the corner of the carriage, began to examine with a feverish
anxiety every house they passed. "Tell them to stop at Rue de la
Fontaine, No. 28," said the count, fixing his eyes on the steward,
to whom he gave this order. Bertuccio's forehead was covered with
perspiration; however, he obeyed, and, leaning out of the window,
he cried to the coachman,--"Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28." No. 28 was
situated at the extr