id lawn, bordered by trees which
appear to be a hundred years old."

"Why not? I am fond of grass and shade," said Monte Cristo.

"Yes," said Madame de Villefort, "the door was towards the road before,
and on the day of my miraculous escape you brought me into the house
from the road, I remember."

"Yes, madame," said Monte Cristo; "but I preferred having an entrance
which would allow me to see the Bois de Boulogne over my gate."

"In four days," said Morrel; "it is extraordinary!"

"Indeed," said Chateau-Renaud, "it seems quite miraculous to make a new
house out of an old one; for it was very old, and dull too. I recollect
coming for my mother to look at it when M. de Saint-Meran advertised it
for sale two or three years ago."

"M. de Saint-Meran?" said Madame de Villefort; "then this house belonged
to M. de Saint-Meran before you bought it?"

"It appears so," replied Monte Cristo.

"Is it possible that you do not know of whom you purchased it?"

"Quite so; my steward transacts all this business for me."

"It is certainly ten years since the house had been occupied," said
Chateau-Renaud, "and it was quite melancholy to look at it, with the
blinds closed, the doors locked, and the weeds in the court. Really, if
the house had not belonged to the father-in-law of the procureur, one
might have thought it some accursed place where a horrible crime had
been committed." Villefort, who had hitherto not tasted the three or
four glasses of rare wine which were placed before him, here took one,
and drank it off. Monte Cristo allowed a short time to elapse, and then
said, "It is singular, baron, but the same idea came across me the first
time I came here; it looked so gloomy I should never have bought it
if my steward had not taken the matter into his own hands. Perhaps the
fellow had been bribed by the notary."

"It is probable," stammered out Villefort, trying to smile; "but I can
assure you that I had nothing to do with any such proceeding. This house
is part of Valentine's marriage-portion, and M. de Saint-Meran wished to
sell it; for if it had remained another year or two uninhabited it would
have fallen to ruin." It was Morrel's turn to become pale.

"There was, above all, one room," continued Monte Cristo, "very plain in
appearance, hung with red damask, which, I know not why, appeared to me
quite dramatic."

"Why so?" said Danglars; "why dramatic?"

"Can we account for instinct?" said Monte Cristo. "Are the