XLII. Monsieur Bertuccio.

XLII

Monsieur Bertuccio.

Meanwhile the count had arrived home; he had taken six minutes to make the journey. Those six minutes had been enough for him to be seen by some twenty young men who, knowing the price of the team they had been unable to buy themselves, had put their mounts to a gallop to catch a glimpse of the splendid gentleman who treated himself to horses worth ten thousand francs apiece.

The house chosen by Ali, and destined to serve as Monte-Cristo's town residence, was situated on the right as one goes up the Champs-Élysées, set between courtyard and garden; a very thick clump of trees, rising in the middle of the court, masked part of the façade, and around this clump, like two arms, stretched two avenues which, extending to right and left, brought carriages from the gate to a double flight of steps bearing on each stair a porcelain vase full of flowers. This house, isolated in the midst of a wide space, had, besides the main entrance, another opening onto the rue de Ponthieu.

Even before the coachman had hailed the porter, the massive gate rolled on its hinges; the count had been seen coming, and in Paris as in Rome, as everywhere, he was served with the swiftness of lightning. The coachman therefore entered, described the half-circle without slackening his pace, and the gate was already shut again while the wheels were still crying out on the gravel of the drive.

At the left of the steps the carriage stopped; two men appeared at the door: one was Ali, who smiled at his master with an incredible frankness of joy, and who was repaid by a single glance from Monte-Cristo.

The other bowed humbly and offered his arm to the count to help him down from the carriage.

"Thank you, Monsieur Bertuccio," said the count, lightly springing the three steps of the footboard; "and the notary?"

"He is in the small salon, Excellency," replied Bertuccio.

"And the visiting cards I told you to have engraved as soon as you had the house number?"

"My lord count, it is already done; I went to the best engraver in the Palais-Royal, who executed the plate before my eyes; the first card pulled was delivered at once, according to your order, to M. the Baron Danglars, deputy, rue de la Chaussée-d'Antin, No. 7; the others are on the mantelpiece of Your Excellency's bedroom."

"Very well. What time is it?"

"Four o'clock."

Monte-Cristo gave his gloves, his hat and his cane to that same French footman who had darted from the antechamber of Count de Morcerf to call the carriage, then he passed into the small salon, led by Bertuccio, who showed him the way.

"Poor marbles in this antechamber," said Monte-Cristo; "I trust all this will be removed."

Bertuccio bowed.

As the steward had said, the notary was waiting in the small salon.

He was a respectable figure of a second clerk of Paris, raised to the impassable dignity of suburban notary.

"Are you the notary charged with selling the country house I wish to buy?" asked Monte-Cristo.

"Yes, my lord count," replied the notary.

"Is the deed of sale ready?"

"Yes, my lord count."

"Have you brought it?"

"Here it is."

"Perfectly. And where is this house I am buying," asked Monte-Cristo negligently, addressing himself half to Bertuccio, half to the notary.

The steward made a gesture which signified: I do not know.

The notary looked at Monte-Cristo with astonishment.

"How," said he, "does not my lord count know where the house he is buying is?"

"No, upon my word," said the count.

"Does not my lord count know it?"

"And how the devil should I know it? I arrived from Cadiz this morning, I have never been to Paris, this is even the first time I set foot in France."

"Then that is another matter," replied the notary; "the house my lord count is buying is situated at Auteuil."

At these words Bertuccio visibly turned pale.

"And where do you take Auteuil to be?" asked Monte-Cristo.

"Close by here, my lord count," said the notary, a little beyond Passy, in a charming situation, in the midst of the Bois de Boulogne."

"So near as that!" said Monte-Cristo; "but that is not the country. How the devil did you come to choose me a house at the gate of Paris, Monsieur Bertuccio?"

"I!" cried the steward with a strange eagerness; "no, certainly, it is not I whom my lord count charged with choosing this house; let my lord count be pleased to recall, to search his memory, to question his recollections."

"Ah! that is true," said Monte-Cristo; "I remember now! I read this advertisement in a Journal, and let myself be seduced by that lying title: _Country House_."

"It is still time," said Bertuccio quickly; "and if Your Excellency will charge me to seek elsewhere, I shall find you the best there is, whether at Enghien, at Fontenay-aux-Roses, or at Bellevue."

"No, upon my word," said Monte-Cristo carelessly; "since I have that one, I shall keep it."

"And monsieur is right," said the notary quickly, who feared to lose his fees. "It is a charming property: running water, thick woods, comfortable dwelling, though long abandoned; not to mention the furniture, which, old as it is, has value, especially today when people seek out old things. Pardon, but I believe my lord count has the taste of his time."

"Say on," said Monte-Cristo; "it is proper, then."

"Ah! monsieur, it is better than that, it is magnificent!"

"The deuce! let us not miss such an opportunity," said Monte-Cristo; "the contract, if you please, Monsieur Notary?"

And he signed rapidly, after casting a glance at the part of the deed where the situation of the house and the names of the owners were set forth.

"Bertuccio," said he, "give fifty-five thousand francs to monsieur."

The steward went out with an unsteady step, and returned with a bundle of banknotes which the notary counted like a man accustomed to receive his money only after the legal purging.

"And now," asked the count, "are all the formalities fulfilled?"

"All, my lord count."

"Have you the keys?"

"They are in the hands of the porter who guards the house; but here is the order I gave him to install monsieur in his property."

"Very good."

And Monte-Cristo gave the notary a nod which meant:

"I have no further need of you, be gone."

"But," ventured the honest notary, "my lord count is mistaken, it seems to me; it is only fifty thousand francs, all included."

"And your fees?"

"Are paid by that sum, my lord count."

"But did you not come from Auteuil here?"

"Yes, assuredly."

"Well, you must be paid for your trouble," said the count.

And he dismissed him with a gesture.

The notary withdrew backwards and bowing to the ground; it was the first time, since the day he had taken his oaths, that he had met such a client.

"Show monsieur out," said the count to Bertuccio.

And the steward went out behind the notary.

Scarcely was the count alone than he drew from his pocket a locked portfolio, which he opened with a small key attached to his neck and which never left him.

After searching for a moment, he paused at a leaf bearing a few notes, compared these notes with the deed of sale laid upon the table, and, gathering his recollections:

"Auteuil, rue de la Fontaine, No. 28; that is it," said he; "now, am I to rely upon a confession wrung by religious terror or by physical terror? At all events, in an hour I shall know all. Bertuccio!" he cried, striking with a kind of little hammer with a folding handle upon a bell which gave a sharp and prolonged sound like that of a tam-tam, "Bertuccio!"

The steward appeared on the threshold.

"Monsieur Bertuccio," said the count, "did you not tell me once that you had traveled in France?"

"In certain parts of France, yes, Excellency."

"You know the environs of Paris, no doubt?"

"No, Excellency, no," replied the steward with a kind of nervous trembling which Monte-Cristo, a connoisseur in matters of emotion, rightly attributed to a lively uneasiness.

"It is a pity," said he, "that you have never visited the environs of Paris, for I wish to go this very evening to see my new property, and in coming with me you would no doubt have given me useful information."

"To Auteuil?" cried Bertuccio, whose coppery complexion became almost livid. "I, go to Auteuil!"

"Well, what is there astonishing in your going to Auteuil, I ask you? When I dwell at Auteuil, you will have to come there, since you are part of the household."

Bertuccio lowered his head before the imperious gaze of his master, and remained motionless and without reply.

"Come now! what is the matter with you. Are you going to make me ring a second time for the carriage?" said Monte-Cristo in the tone Louis XIV used in pronouncing the famous: "I had nearly to wait!"

Bertuccio made but one bound from the small salon to the antechamber, and cried in a hoarse voice:

"His Excellency's horses!"

Monte-Cristo wrote two or three letters; as he was sealing the last, the steward reappeared.

"His Excellency's carriage is at the door," said he.

"Well, take your gloves and your hat," said Monte-Cristo.

"Am I to go with my lord count?" cried Bertuccio.

"Of course, you must give your orders, since I mean to inhabit that house."

It was without example that one had replied to an injunction of the count; therefore the steward, making no objection, followed his master, who mounted into the carriage and signed to him to follow. The steward respectfully seated himself on the front bench.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”