ple please, and, besides, you must concede something
to diseased minds. Come, collect yourself, and tell me all."

"I have related it but once, and that was to the Abbe Busoni. Such
things," continued Bertuccio, shaking his head, "are only related under
the seal of confession."

"Then," said the count, "I refer you to your confessor. Turn Chartreux
or Trappist, and relate your secrets, but, as for me, I do not like
any one who is alarmed by such phantasms, and I do not choose that my
servants should be afraid to walk in the garden of an evening. I confess
I am not very desirous of a visit from the commissary of police, for, in
Italy, justice is only paid when silent--in France she is paid only
when she speaks. Peste, I thought you somewhat Corsican, a great deal
smuggler, and an excellent steward; but I see you have other strings to
your bow. You are no longer in my service, Monsieur Bertuccio."

"Oh, your excellency, your excellency!" cried the steward, struck with
terror at this threat, "if that is the only reason I cannot remain in
your service, I will tell all, for if I quit you, it will only be to go
to the scaffold."

"That is different," replied Monte Cristo; "but if you intend to tell an
untruth, reflect it were better not to speak at all."

"No, monsieur, I swear to you, by my hopes of salvation, I will tell you
all, for the Abbe Busoni himself only knew a part of my secret; but,
I pray you, go away from that plane-tree. The moon is just bursting
through the clouds, and there, standing where you do, and wrapped in
that cloak that conceals your figure, you remind me of M. de Villefort."

"What!" cried Monte Cristo, "it was M. de Villefort?"

"Your excellency knows him?"

"The former royal attorney at Nimes?"

"Yes."

"Who married the Marquis of Saint-Meran's daughter?"

"Yes."

"Who enjoyed the reputation of being the most severe, the most upright,
the most rigid magistrate on the bench?"

"Well, monsieur," said Bertuccio, "this man with this spotless
reputation"--

"Well?"

"Was a villain."

"Bah," replied Monte Cristo, "impossible!"

"It is as I tell you."

"Ah, really," said Monte Cristo. "Have you proof of this?"

"I had it."

"And you have lost it; how stupid!"

"Yes; but by careful search it might be recovered."

"Really," returned the count, "relate it to me, for it begins to
interest me." And the count, humming an air from "Lucia," went to sit
down on a bench, while Bertucci