rving the young man with a gloomy satisfaction; "and
you have done well to conform in everything to the wishes of my friend
Sinbad; for your father is indeed here, and is seeking you."

The count from the moment of first entering the drawing-room, had not
once lost sight of the expression of the young man's countenance; he had
admired the assurance of his look and the firmness of his voice; but at
these words, so natural in themselves, "Your father is indeed here, and
is seeking you," young Andrea started, and exclaimed, "My father? Is my
father here?"

"Most undoubtedly," replied Monte Cristo; "your father, Major Bartolomeo
Cavalcanti." The expression of terror which, for the moment, had
overspread the features of the young man, had now disappeared. "Ah, yes,
that is the name, certainly. Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti. And you really
mean to say; monsieur, that my dear father is here?"

"Yes, sir; and I can even add that I have only just left his company.
The history which he related to me of his lost son touched me to the
quick; indeed, his griefs, hopes, and fears on that subject might
furnish material for a most touching and pathetic poem. At length, he
one day received a letter, stating that the abductors of his son now
offered to restore him, or at least to give notice where he might be
found, on condition of receiving a large sum of money, by way of ransom.
Your father did not hesitate an instant, and the sum was sent to the
frontier of Piedmont, with a passport signed for Italy. You were in the
south of France, I think?"

"Yes," replied Andrea, with an embarrassed air, "I was in the south of
France."

"A carriage was to await you at Nice?"

"Precisely so; and it conveyed me from Nice to Genoa, from Genoa to
Turin, from Turin to Chambery, from Chambery to Pont-de-Beauvoisin, and
from Pont-de-Beauvoisin to Paris."

"Indeed? Then your father ought to have met with you on the road, for it
is exactly the same route which he himself took, and that is how we have
been able to trace your journey to this place."

"But," said Andrea, "if my father had met me, I doubt if he would have
recognized me; I must be somewhat altered since he last saw me."

"Oh, the voice of nature," said Monte Cristo.

"True," interrupted the young man, "I had not looked upon it in that
light."

"Now," replied Monte Cristo "there is only one source of uneasiness left
in your father's mind, which is this--he is anxious to know how you
h