and slipping a packet of bank-notes into the young man's hand.

"What is this?"

"It is from your father."

"From my father?"

"Yes; did you not tell him just now that you wanted money? Well, then,
he deputes me to give you this."

"Am I to consider this as part of my income on account?"

"No, it is for the first expenses of your settling in Paris."

"Ah, how good my dear father is!"

"Silence," said Monte Cristo; "he does not wish you to know that it
comes from him."

"I fully appreciate his delicacy," said Andrea, cramming the notes
hastily into his pocket.

"And now, gentlemen, I wish you good-morning," said Monte Cristo.

"And when shall we have the honor of seeing you again, your excellency?"
asked Cavalcanti.

"Ah," said Andrea, "when may we hope for that pleasure?"

"On Saturday, if you will--Yes.--Let me see--Saturday--I am to dine at
my country house, at Auteuil, on that day, Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28.
Several persons are invited, and among others, M. Danglars, your banker.
I will introduce you to him, for it will be necessary he should know
you, as he is to pay your money."

"Full dress?" said the major, half aloud.

"Oh, yes, certainly," said the count; "uniform, cross, knee-breeches."

"And how shall I be dressed?" demanded Andrea.

"Oh, very simply; black trousers, patent leather boots, white waistcoat,
either a black or blue coat, and a long cravat. Go to Blin or Veronique
for your clothes. Baptistin will tell you where, if you do not know
their address. The less pretension there is in your attire, the better
will be the effect, as you are a rich man. If you mean to buy any
horses, get them of Devedeux, and if you purchase a phaeton, go to
Baptiste for it."

"At what hour shall we come?" asked the young man.

"About half-past six."

"We will be with you at that time," said the major. The two Cavalcanti
bowed to the count, and left the house. Monte Cristo went to the window,
and saw them crossing the street, arm in arm. "There go two miscreants;"
said he, "it is a pity they are not really related!"--then, after an
instant of gloomy reflection, "Come, I will go to see the Morrels," said
he; "I think that disgust is even more sickening than hatred."

Chapter 57. In the Lucerne Patch.

Our readers must now allow us to transport them again to the enclosure
surrounding M. de Villefort's house, and, behind the gate, half screened
from view by the large chestnut-trees, which on all