the Allees de Meillan to seek out a small
house with which our readers were made familiar at the beginning of this
story. It yet stood, under the shade of the fine avenue of lime-trees,
which forms one of the most frequent walks of the idlers of Marseilles,
covered by an immense vine, which spreads its aged and blackened
branches over the stone front, burnt yellow by the ardent sun of the
south. Two stone steps worn away by the friction of many feet led to the
door, which was made of three planks; the door had never been painted or
varnished, so great cracks yawned in it during the dry season to
close again when the rains came on. The house, with all its crumbling
antiquity and apparent misery, was yet cheerful and picturesque, and was
the same that old Dantes formerly inhabited--the only difference being
that the old man occupied merely the garret, while the whole house was
now placed at the command of Mercedes by the count.

The woman whom the count had seen leave the ship with so much regret
entered this house; she had scarcely closed the door after her when
Monte Cristo appeared at the corner of a street, so that he found and
lost her again almost at the same instant. The worn out steps were old
acquaintances of his; he knew better than any one else how to open that
weather-beaten door with the large headed nail which served to raise
the latch within. He entered without knocking, or giving any other
intimation of his presence, as if he had been a friend or the master
of the place. At the end of a passage paved with bricks, was a little
garden, bathed in sunshine, and rich in warmth and light. In this garden
Mercedes had found, at the place indicated by the count, the sum of
money which he, through a sense of delicacy, had described as having
been placed there twenty-four years previously. The trees of the garden
were easily seen from the steps of the street-door. Monte Cristo, on
stepping into the house, heard a sigh that was almost a deep sob; he
looked in the direction whence it came, and there under an arbor of
Virginia jessamine, [*] with its thick foliage and beautiful long purple
flowers, he saw Mercedes seated, with her head bowed, and weeping
bitterly. She had raised her veil, and with her face hidden by her hands
was giving free scope to the sighs and tears which had been so long
restrained by the presence of her son. Monte Cristo advanced a few
steps, which were heard on the gravel. Mercedes raised her head