"Yes, count."
"Have you brought it?"
"Here it is."
"Very well; and where is this house that I purchase?" asked the count carelessly, addressing himself half to Bertuccio, half to the notary.
The steward made a gesture that signified, "I do not know."
The notary looked at the count with astonishment.
"What!" said he, "does not the count know where the house he purchases is situated?"
"No," returned the count.
"The count does not know?"
"How should I know?
I have arrived from Cadiz this morning. I have never before been at Paris, and it is the first time I have ever even set my foot in France."
"Ah, that is different; the house you purchase is at Auteuil."
At these words Bertuccio turned pale.
"And where is Auteuil?" asked the count.
"Close by here, monsieur," replied the notary—"a little beyond Passy; a charming situation, in the heart of the Bois de Boulogne."
"So near as that?" said the Count; "but that is not in the country.
What made you choose a house at the gates of Paris, M. Bertuccio?"
"I," cried the steward with a strange expression.
"His excellency did not charge me to purchase this house. If his excellency will recollect—if he will think"—
"Ah, true," observed Monte Cristo; "I recollect now. I read the advertisement in one of the papers, and was tempted by the false title, 'a country house.'"
"It is not yet too late," cried Bertuccio, eagerly; "and if your excellency will intrust me with the commission, I will find you a better at Enghien, at Fontenay-aux-Roses, or at Bellevue."
"Oh, no," returned Monte Cristo negligently; "since I have this, I will keep it."
"And you are quite right," said the notary, who feared to lose his fee. "It is a charming place, well supplied with spring-water and fine trees; a comfortable habitation, although abandoned for a long time, without reckoning the furniture, which, although old, is yet valuable, now that old things are so much sought after.
I suppose the count has the tastes of the day?"
"To be sure," returned Monte Cristo; "it is very convenient, then?"
"It is more—it is magnificent."
"Peste, let us not lose such an opportunity," returned Monte Cristo. "The deed, if you please, Mr. Notary."
And he signed it rapidly, after having first run his eye over that part of the deed in which were specified the situation of the house and the names of the proprietors.
"Bertuccio," said he, "give fifty-five thousand francs to monsieur."
The steward left the room with a faltering step, and returned with a bundle of bank-notes, which the notary counted like a man who never gives a receipt for money until after he is sure it is all there.
"And now," demanded the count, "are all the forms complied with?"
"All, sir."
"Have you the keys?"
"They are in the hands of the concierge, who takes care of the house, but here is the order I have given him to install the count in his new possessions."
"Very well;" and Monte Cristo made a sign with his hand to the notary, which said,
"I have no further need of you; you may go."
"But," observed the honest notary, "the count is, I think, mistaken; it is only fifty thousand francs, everything included."
"And your fee?"
"Is included in this sum."
"But have you not come from Auteuil here?"
"Yes, certainly."
"Well, then, it is but fair that you should be paid for your loss of time and trouble," said the count; and he made a gesture of polite dismissal.
The notary left the room backwards, and bowing down to the ground; it was the first time he had ever met a similar client.
"See this gentleman out," said the count to Bertuccio.
And the steward followed the notary out of the room.
Scarcely was the count alone, when he drew from his pocket a book closed with a lock, and opened it with a key which he wore round his neck, and which never left him.
After having sought for a few minutes, he stopped at a leaf which had several notes, and compared them with the deed of sale, which lay on the table. "'Auteuil, Rue de la Fontaine, No.
28;' it is indeed the same," said he; "and now, am I to rely upon an avowal extorted by religious or physical terror?
However, in an hour I shall know all.
Bertuccio!" cried he, striking a light hammer with a pliant handle on a small gong. "Bertuccio!"