the proprietor of the room. "Yes, yes, I see. 'Major
Cavalcanti, a worthy patrician of Lucca, a descendant of the Cavalcanti
of Florence,'" continued Monte Cristo, reading aloud, "'possessing an
income of half a million.'" Monte Cristo raised his eyes from the paper,
and bowed. "Half a million," said he, "magnificent!"

"Half a million, is it?" said the major.

"Yes, in so many words; and it must be so, for the abbe knows correctly
the amount of all the largest fortunes in Europe."

"Be it half a million, then; but on my word of honor, I had no idea that
it was so much."

"Because you are robbed by your steward. You must make some reformation
in that quarter."

"You have opened my eyes," said the Italian gravely; "I will show the
gentlemen the door." Monte Cristo resumed the perusal of the letter:--

"'And who only needs one thing more to make him happy.'"

"Yes, indeed but one!" said the major with a sigh.

"'Which is to recover a lost and adored son.'"

"A lost and adored son!"

"'Stolen away in his infancy, either by an enemy of his noble family or
by the gypsies.'"

"At the age of five years!" said the major with a deep sigh, and raising
his eye to heaven.

"Unhappy father," said Monte Cristo. The count continued:--

"'I have given him renewed life and hope, in the assurance that you have
the power of restoring the son whom he has vainly sought for fifteen
years.'" The major looked at the count with an indescribable expression
of anxiety. "I have the power of so doing," said Monte Cristo. The major
recovered his self-possession. "So, then," said he, "the letter was true
to the end?"

"Did you doubt it, my dear Monsieur Bartolomeo?"

"No, indeed; certainly not; a good man, a man holding religious office,
as does the Abbe Busoni, could not condescend to deceive or play off a
joke; but your excellency has not read all."

"Ah, true," said Monte Cristo "there is a postscript."

"Yes, yes," repeated the major, "yes--there--is--a--postscript."

"'In order to save Major Cavalcanti the trouble of drawing on his
banker, I send him a draft for 2,000 francs to defray his travelling
expenses, and credit on you for the further sum of 48,000 francs, which
you still owe me.'" The major awaited the conclusion of the postscript,
apparently with great anxiety. "Very good," said the count.

"He said 'very good,'" muttered the major, "then--sir"--replied he.

"Then what?" asked Monte Cristo.

"Then the postscri