ull glass and a biscuit. The count told
Baptistin to leave the plate within reach of his guest, who began by
sipping the Alicante with an expression of great satisfaction, and then
delicately steeped his biscuit in the wine.

"So, sir, you lived at Lucca, did you? You were rich, noble, held in
great esteem--had all that could render a man happy?"

"All," said the major, hastily swallowing his biscuit, "positively all."

"And yet there was one thing wanting in order to complete your
happiness?"

"Only one thing," said the Italian.

"And that one thing, your lost child."

"Ah," said the major, taking a second biscuit, "that consummation of
my happiness was indeed wanting." The worthy major raised his eyes to
heaven and sighed.

"Let me hear, then," said the count, "who this deeply regretted son was;
for I always understood you were a bachelor."

"That was the general opinion, sir," said the major, "and I"--

"Yes," replied the count, "and you confirmed the report. A youthful
indiscretion, I suppose, which you were anxious to conceal from the
world at large?" The major recovered himself, and resumed his usual calm
manner, at the same time casting his eyes down, either to give himself
time to compose his countenance, or to assist his imagination, all the
while giving an under-look at the count, the protracted smile on whose
lips still announced the same polite curiosity. "Yes," said the major,
"I did wish this fault to be hidden from every eye."

"Not on your own account, surely," replied Monte Cristo; "for a man is
above that sort of thing?"

"Oh, no, certainly not on my own account," said the major with a smile
and a shake of the head.

"But for the sake of the mother?" said the count.

"Yes, for the mother's sake--his poor mother!" cried the major, taking a
third biscuit.

"Take some more wine, my dear Cavalcanti," said the count, pouring out
for him a second glass of Alicante; "your emotion has quite overcome
you."

"His poor mother," murmured the major, trying to get the lachrymal gland
in operation, so as to moisten the corner of his eye with a false tear.

"She belonged to one of the first families in Italy, I think, did she
not?"

"She was of a noble family of Fiesole, count."

"And her name was"--

"Do you desire to know her name?"--

"Oh," said Monte Cristo "it would be quite superfluous for you to tell
me, for I already know it."

"The count knows everything," said the Italian, bowing.