emity of the village; during the drive night had set
in, and darkness gave the surroundings the artificial appearance of a
scene on the stage. The carriage stopped, the footman sprang off the
box, and opened the door. "Well," said the count, "you do not get out,
M. Bertuccio--you are going to stay in the carriage, then? What are
you thinking of this evening?" Bertuccio sprang out, and offered his
shoulder to the count, who, this time, leaned upon it as he descended
the three steps of the carriage. "Knock," said the count, "and announce
me." Bertuccio knocked, the door opened, and the concierge appeared.
"What is it?" asked he.

"It is your new master, my good fellow," said the footman. And he held
out to the concierge the notary's order.

"The house is sold, then?" demanded the concierge; "and this gentleman
is coming to live here?"

"Yes, my friend," returned the count; "and I will endeavor to give you
no cause to regret your old master."

"Oh, monsieur," said the concierge, "I shall not have much cause to
regret him, for he came here but seldom; it is five years since he was
here last, and he did well to sell the house, for it did not bring him
in anything at all."

"What was the name of your old master?" said Monte Cristo.

"The Marquis of Saint-Meran. Ah, I am sure he has not sold the house for
what he gave for it."

"The Marquis of Saint-Meran!" returned the count. "The name is not
unknown to me; the Marquis of Saint-Meran!" and he appeared to meditate.

"An old gentleman," continued the concierge, "a stanch follower of the
Bourbons; he had an only daughter, who married M. de Villefort, who had
been the king's attorney at Nimes, and afterwards at Versailles." Monte
Cristo glanced at Bertuccio, who became whiter than the wall against
which he leaned to prevent himself from falling. "And is not this
daughter dead?" demanded Monte Cristo; "I fancy I have heard so."

"Yes, monsieur, one and twenty years ago; and since then we have not
seen the poor marquis three times."

"Thanks, thanks," said Monte Cristo, judging from the steward's utter
prostration that he could not stretch the cord further without danger of
breaking it. "Give me a light."

"Shall I accompany you, monsieur?"

"No, it is unnecessary; Bertuccio will show me a light." And Monte
Cristo accompanied these words by the gift of two gold pieces, which
produced a torrent of thanks and blessings from the concierge. "Ah,
monsieur," said he, after