re prevented by straps from slipping up to the
knee. His first remark on entering was,--"You know, sir, I do not speak
French?"

"I know you do not like to converse in our language," replied the envoy.
"But you may use it," replied Lord Wilmore; "I understand it."

"And I," replied the visitor, changing his idiom, "know enough of
English to keep up the conversation. Do not put yourself to the
slightest inconvenience."

"Aw?" said Lord Wilmore, with that tone which is only known to natives
of Great Britain.

The envoy presented his letter of introduction, which the latter read
with English coolness, and having finished,--"I understand," said he,
"perfectly."

Then began the questions, which were similar to those which had been
addressed to the Abbe Busoni. But as Lord Wilmore, in the character of
the count's enemy, was less restrained in his answers, they were more
numerous; he described the youth of Monte Cristo, who he said, at ten
years of age, entered the service of one of the petty sovereigns of
India who make war on the English. It was there Wilmore had first met
him and fought against him; and in that war Zaccone had been taken
prisoner, sent to England, and consigned to the hulks, whence he had
escaped by swimming. Then began his travels, his duels, his caprices;
then the insurrection in Greece broke out, and he had served in the
Grecian ranks. While in that service he had discovered a silver mine in
the mountains of Thessaly, but he had been careful to conceal it from
every one. After the battle of Navarino, when the Greek government was
consolidated, he asked of King Otho a mining grant for that district,
which was given him. Hence that immense fortune, which, in Lord
Wilmore's opinion, possibly amounted to one or two millions per
annum,--a precarious fortune, which might be momentarily lost by the
failure of the mine.

"But," asked the visitor, "do you know why he came to France?"

"He is speculating in railways," said Lord Wilmore, "and as he is
an expert chemist and physicist, he has invented a new system of
telegraphy, which he is seeking to bring to perfection."

"How much does he spend yearly?" asked the prefect.

"Not more than five or six hundred thousand francs," said Lord Wilmore;
"he is a miser." Hatred evidently inspired the Englishman, who, knowing
no other reproach to bring on the count, accused him of avarice. "Do you
know his house at Auteuil?"

"Certainly."

"What do you know res