The Count of Monte Cristo entered the adjoining room, whichBaptistin had designated as the drawing-room, and foundthere a young man, of graceful demeanor and elegantappearance, who had arrived in a cab about half an hourpreviously. Baptistin had not found any difficulty inrecognizing the person who presented himself at the door foradmittance. He was certainly the tall young man with lighthair, red heard, black eyes, and brilliant complexion, whomhis master had so particularly described to him. When thecount entered the room the young man was carelesslystretched on a sofa, tapping his boot with the gold-headedcane which he held in his hand. On perceiving the count herose quickly. "The Count of Monte Cristo, I believe?" saidhe.

"Yes, sir, and I think I have the honor of addressing CountAndrea Cavalcanti?"

"Count Andrea Cavalcanti," repeated the young man,accompanying his words with a bow.

"You are charged with a letter of introduction addressed tome, are you not?" said the count.

"I did not mention that, because the signature seemed to meso strange."

"The letter signed `Sinbad the Sailor,' is it not?"

"Exactly so. Now, as I have never known any Sinbad, with theexception of the one celebrated in the `Thousand and OneNights'" -

"Well, it is one of his descendants, and a great friend ofmine; he is a very rich Englishman, eccentric almost toinsanity, and his real name is Lord Wilmore."

"Ah, indeed? Then that explains everything that isextraordinary," said Andrea. "He is, then, the sameEnglishman whom I met - at - ah - yes, indeed. Well,monsieur, I am at your service."

"If what you say be true," replied the count, smiling,"perhaps you will be kind enough to give me some account ofyourself and your family?"

"Certainly, I will do so," said the young man, with aquickness which gave proof of his ready invention. "I am (asyou have said) the Count Andrea Cavalcanti, son of MajorBartolomeo Cavalcanti, a descendant of the Cavalcanti whosenames are inscribed in the golden book at Florence. Ourfamily, although still rich (for my father's income amountsto half a million), has experienced many misfortunes, and Imyself was, at the age of five years, taken away by thetreachery of my tutor, so that for fifteen years I have notseen the author of my existence. Since I have arrived atyears of discretion and become my own master, I have beenconstantly seeking him, but all in vain. At length Ireceived this letter from your friend, which states that myfather is in Paris, and authorizes me to address myself toyou for information respecting him."

"Really, all you have related to me is exceedinglyinteresting," said Monte Cristo, observing the young manwith a gloomy satisfaction; "and you have done well toconform in everything to the wishes of my friend Sinbad; foryour father is indeed here, and is seeking you."

The count from the moment of first entering thedrawing-room, had not once lost sight of the expression ofthe young man's countenance; he had admired the assurance ofhis look and the firmness of his voice; but at these words,so natural in themselves, "Your father is indeed here, andis seeking you," young Andrea started, and exclaimed, "Myfather? Is my father here?"

"Most undoubtedly," replied Monte Cristo; "your father,Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti." The expression of terrorwhich, for the moment, had overspread the features of theyoung man, had now disappeared. "Ah, yes, that is the name,certainly. Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti. And you really meanto say; monsieur, that my dear father is here?"

"Yes, sir; and I can even add that I have only just left hiscompany. The history which he related to me of his lost sontouched me to the quick; indeed, his griefs, hopes, andfears on that subject might furnish material for a mosttouching and pathetic poem. At length, he one day received aletter, stating that the abductors of his son now offered torestore him, or at least to give notice where he might befound, on condition of receiving a large sum of money, byway of ransom. Your father did not hesitate an instant, andthe sum was sent to the frontier of Piedmont, with apassport signed for Italy. You were in the south of France,I think?"

"Yes," replied Andrea, with an embarrassed air, "I was inthe south of France."

"A carriage was to await you at Nice?"

"Precisely so; and it conveyed me from Nice to Genoa, fromGenoa to Turin, from Turin to Chambery, from Chambery toPont-de-Beauvoisin, and from Pont-de-Beauvoisin to Paris."

"Indeed? Then your father ought to have met with you on theroad, for it is exactly the same route which he himselftook, and that is how we have been able to trace yourjourney to this place."

"But," said Andrea, "if my father had met me, I doubt if hewould have recognized me; I must be somewhat altered sincehe last saw me."

"Oh, the voice of nature," said Monte Cristo.

"True," interrupted the young man, "I had not looked upon itin that light."

"Now," replied Monte Cristo "there is only one source ofuneasiness left in your father's mind, which is this - heis anxious to know how you have been employed during yourlong absence from him, how you have been treated by yourpersecutors, and if they have conducted themselves towardsyou with all the deference due to your rank. Finally, he isanxious to see if you have been fortunate enough to escapethe bad moral influence to which you have been exposed, andwhich is infinitely more to be dreaded than any physicalsuffering; he wishes to discover if the fine abilities withwhich nature had endowed you have been weakened by want ofculture; and, in short, whether you consider yourselfcapable of resuming and retaining in the world the highposition to which your rank entitles you."

"Sir!" exclaimed the young man, quite astounded, "I hope nofalse report" -

"As for myself, I first heard you spoken of by my friendWilmore, the philanthropist. I believe he found you in someunpleasant position, but do not know of what nature, for Idid not ask, not being inquisitive. Your misfortunes engagedhis sympathies, so you see you must have been interesting.He told me that he was anxious to restore you to theposition which you had lost, and that he would seek yourfather until he found him. He did seek, and has found him,apparently, since he is here now; and, finally, my friendapprised me of your coming, and gave me a few otherinstructions relative to your future fortune. I am quiteaware that my friend Wilmore is peculiar, but he is sincere,and as rich as a gold-mine, consequently, he may indulge hiseccentricities without any fear of their ruining him, and Ihave promised to adhere to his instructions. Now, sir, praydo not be offended at the question I am about to put to you,as it comes in the way of my duty as your patron. I wouldwish to know if the misfortunes which have happened to you- misfortunes entirely beyond your control, and which in nodegree diminish my regard for you - I would wish to know ifthey have not, in some measure, contributed to render you astranger to the world in which your fortune and your nameentitle you to make a conspicuous figure?"

"Sir," returned the young man, with a reassurance of manner,"make your mind easy on this score. Those who took me frommy father, and who always intended, sooner or later, to sellme again to my original proprietor, as they have now done,calculated that, in order to make the most of their bargain,it would be politic to leave me in possession of all mypersonal and hereditary worth, and even to increase thevalue, if possible. I have, therefore, received a very goodeducation, and have been treated by these kidnappers verymuch as the slaves were treated in Asia Minor, whose mastersmade them grammarians, doctors, and philosophers, in orderthat they might fetch a higher price in the Roman market."Monte Cristo smiled with satisfaction; it appeared as if hehad not expected so much from M. Andrea Cavalcanti."Besides," continued the young man, "if there did appearsome defect in education, or offence against the establishedforms of etiquette, I suppose it would be excused, inconsideration of the misfortunes which accompanied my birth,and followed me through my youth."

"Well," said Monte Cristo in an indifferent tone, "you willdo as you please, count, for you are the master of your ownactions, and are the person most concerned in the matter,but if I were you, I would not divulge a word of theseadventures. Your history is quite a romance, and the world,which delights in romances in yellow covers, strangelymistrusts those which are bound in living parchment, eventhough they be gilded like yourself. This is the kind ofdifficulty which I wished to represent to you, my dearcount. You would hardly have recited your touching historybefore it would go forth to the world, and be deemedunlikely and unnatural. You would be no longer a lost childfound, but you would be looked upon as an upstart, who hadsprung up like a mushroom in the night. You might excite alittle curiosity, but it is not every one who likes to bemade the centre of observation and the subject of unpleasantremark."

"I agree with you, monsieur," said the young man, turningpale, and, in spite of himself, trembling beneath thescrutinizing look of his companion, "such consequences wouldbe extremely unpleasant."

"Nevertheless, you must not exaggerate the evil," said MonteCristo, "for by endeavoring to avoid one fault you will fallinto another. You must resolve upon one simple and singleline of conduct, and for a man of your intelligence, thisplan is as easy as it is necessary; you must form honorablefriendships, and by that means counteract the prejudicewhich may attach to the obscurity of your former life."Andrea visibly changed countenance. "I would offer myself asyour surety and friendly adviser," said Monte Cristo, "did Inot possess a moral distrust of my best friends, and a sortof inclination to lead others to doubt them too; therefore,in departing from this rule, I should (as the actors say) beplaying a part quite out of my line, and should, therefore,run the risk of being hissed, which would be an act offolly."

"However, your excellency," said Andrea, "in considerationof Lord Wilmore, by whom I was recommended to you - "

"Yes, certainly," interrupted Monte Cristo; "but LordWilmore did not omit to inform me, my dear M. Andrea, thatthe season of your youth was rather a stormy one. Ah," saidthe count, watching Andrea's countenance, "I do not demandany confession from you; it is precisely to avoid thatnecessity that your father was sent for from Lucca. Youshall soon see him. He is a little stiff and pompous in hismanner, and he is disfigured by his uniform; but when itbecomes known that he has been for eighteen years in theAustrian service, all that will be pardoned. We are notgenerally very severe with the Austrians. In short, you willfind your father a very presentable person, I assure you."

"Ah, sir, you have given me confidence; it is so long sincewe were separated, that I have not the least remembrance ofhim, and, besides, you know that in the eyes of the world alarge fortune covers all defects."

"He is a millionaire - his income is 500,000 francs."

"Then," said the young man, with anxiety, "I shall be sureto be placed in an agreeable position."

"One of the most agreeable possible, my dear sir; he willallow you an income of 50,000 livres per annum during thewhole time of your stay in Paris."

"Then in that case I shall always choose to remain there."

"You cannot control circumstances, my dear sir; `manproposes, and God disposes.'" Andrea sighed. "But," said he,"so long as I do remain in Paris, and nothing forces me toquit it, do you mean to tell me that I may rely on receivingthe sum you just now mentioned to me?"

"You may."

"Shall I receive it from my father?" asked Andrea, with someuneasiness.

"Yes, you will receive it from your father personally, butLord Wilmore will be the security for the money. He has, atthe request of your father, opened an account of 6,000francs a month at M. Danglars', which is one of the safestbanks in Paris."

"And does my father mean to remain long in Paris?" askedAndrea.

"Only a few days," replied Monte Cristo. "His service doesnot allow him to absent himself more than two or three weekstogether."

"Ah, my dear father!" exclaimed Andrea, evidently charmedwith the idea of his speedy departure.

"Therefore," said Monte Cristo feigning to mistake hismeaning - "therefore I will not, for another instant,retard the pleasure of your meeting. Are you prepared toembrace your worthy father?"

"I hope you do not doubt it."

"Go, then, into the drawing-room, my young friend, where youwill find your father awaiting you." Andrea made a low bowto the count, and entered the adjoining room. Monte Cristowatched him till he disappeared, and then touched a springin a panel made to look like a picture, which, in slidingpartly from the frame, discovered to view a small opening,so cleverly contrived that it revealed all that was passingin the drawing-room now occupied by Cavalcanti and Andrea.The young man closed the door behind him, and advancedtowards the major, who had risen when he heard stepsapproaching him. "Ah, my dear father!" said Andrea in a loudvoice, in order that the count might hear him in the nextroom, "is it really you?"

"How do you do, my dear son?" said the major gravely.

"After so many years of painful separation," said Andrea, inthe same tone of voice, and glancing towards the door, "whata happiness it is to meet again!"

"Indeed it is, after so long a separation."

"Will you not embrace me, sir?" said Andrea.

"If you wish it, my son," said the major; and the two menembraced each other after the fashion of actors on thestage; that is to say, each rested his head on the other'sshoulder.

"Then we are once more reunited?" said Andrea.

"Once more," replied the major.

"Never more to be separated?"

"Why, as to that - I think, my dear son, you must be bythis time so accustomed to France as to look upon it almostas a second country."

"The fact is," said the young man, "that I should beexceedingly grieved to leave it."

"As for me, you must know I cannot possibly live out ofLucca; therefore I shall return to Italy as soon as I can."

"But before you leave France, my dear father, I hope youwill put me in possession of the documents which will benecessary to prove my descent."

"Certainly; I am come expressly on that account; it has costme much trouble to find you, but I had resolved on givingthem into your hands, and if I had to recommence my search,it would occupy all the few remaining years of my life."

"Where are these papers, then?"

"Here they are."

Andrea seized the certificate of his father's marriage andhis own baptismal register, and after having opened themwith all the eagerness which might be expected under thecircumstances, he read them with a facility which provedthat he was accustomed to similar documents, and with anexpression which plainly denoted an unusual interest in thecontents. When he had perused the documents, an indefinableexpression of pleasure lighted up his countenance, andlooking at the major with a most peculiar smile, he said, invery excellent Tuscan, - "Then there is no longer any suchthing, in Italy as being condemned to the galleys?" Themajor drew himself up to his full height.

"Why? - what do you mean by that question?"

"I mean that if there were, it would be impossible to drawup with impunity two such deeds as these. In France, my dearsir, half such a piece of effrontery as that would cause youto be quickly despatched to Toulon for five years, forchange of air."

"Will you be good enough to explain your meaning?" said themajor, endeavoring as much as possible to assume an air ofthe greatest majesty.

"My dear M. Cavalcanti," said Andrea, taking the major bythe arm in a confidential manner, "how much are you paid forbeing my father?" The major was about to speak, when Andreacontinued, in a low voice.

"Nonsense, I am going to set you an example of confidence,they give me 50,000 francs a year to be your son;consequently, you can understand that it is not at alllikely I shall ever deny my parent." The major lookedanxiously around him. "Make yourself easy, we are quitealone," said Andrea; "besides, we are conversing inItalian."

"Well, then," replied the major, "they paid me 50,000 francsdown."

"Monsieur Cavalcanti," said Andrea, "do you believe in fairytales?"

"I used not to do so, but I really feel now almost obligedto have faith in them."

"You have, then, been induced to alter your opinion; youhave had some proofs of their truth?" The major drew fromhis pocket a handful of gold. "Most palpable proofs," saidhe, "as you may perceive."

"You think, then, that I may rely on the count's promises?"

"Certainly I do."

"You are sure he will keep his word with me?"

"To the letter, but at the same time, remember, we mustcontinue to play our respective parts. I, as a tenderfather" -

"And I as a dutiful son, as they choose that I shall bedescended from you."

"Whom do you mean by they?"

"Ma foi, I can hardly tell, but I was alluding to those whowrote the letter; you received one, did you not?"

"Yes."

"From whom?"

"From a certain Abbe Busoni."

"Have you any knowledge of him?"

"No, I have never seen him."

"What did he say in the letter?"

"You will promise not to betray me?"

"Rest assured of that; you well know that our interests arethe same."

"Then read for yourself;" and the major gave a letter intothe young man's hand. Andrea read in a low voice -

"You are poor; a miserable old age awaits you. Would youlike to become rich, or at least independent? Set outimmediately for Paris, and demand of the Count of MonteCristo, Avenue des Champs Elysees, No. 30, the son whom youhad by the Marchesa Corsinari, and who was taken from you atfive years of age. This son is named Andrea Cavalcanti. Inorder that you may not doubt the kind intention of thewriter of this letter, you will find enclosed an order for2,400 francs, payable in Florence, at Signor Gozzi's; also aletter of introduction to the Count of Monte Cristo, on whomI give you a draft of 48,000 francs. Remember to go to thecount on the 26th May at seven o'clock in the evening.

(Signed)

"Abbe Busoni."

"It is the same."

"What do you mean?" said the major.

"I was going to say that I received a letter almost to thesame effect."

"You?"

"Yes."

"From the Abbe Busoni?"

"No."

"From whom, then?"

"From an Englishman, called Lord Wilmore, who takes the nameof Sinbad the Sailor."

"And of whom you have no more knowledge than I of the AbbeBusoni?"

"You are mistaken; there I am ahead of you."

"You have seen him, then?"

"Yes, once."

"Where?"

"Ah, that is just what I cannot tell you; if I did, I shouldmake you as wise as myself, which it is not my intention todo."

"And what did the letter contain?"

"Read it."

"`You are poor, and your future prospects are dark andgloomy. Do you wish for a name? should you like to be rich,and your own master?'"

"Ma foi," said the young man; "was it possible there couldbe two answers to such a question?"

"Take the post-chaise which you will find waiting at thePorte de Genes, as you enter Nice; pass through Turin,Chambery, and Pont-de-Beauvoisin. Go to the Count of MonteCristo, Avenue des Champs Elysees, on the 26th of May, atseven o'clock in the evening, and demand of him your father.You are the son of the Marchese Cavalcanti and the MarchesaOliva Corsinari. The marquis will give you some papers whichwill certify this fact, and authorize you to appear underthat name in the Parisian world. As to your rank, an annualincome of 50,000 livres will enable you to support itadmirably. I enclose a draft for 5,000 livres, payable on M.Ferrea, banker at Nice, and also a letter of introduction tothe Count of Monte Cristo, whom I have directed to supplyall your wants.

"Sinbad the Sailor."

"Humph," said the major; "very good. You have seen thecount, you say?"

"I have only just left him "

"And has he conformed to all that the letter specified?"

"He has."

"Do you understand it?"

"Not in the least."

"There is a dupe somewhere."

"At all events, it is neither you nor I."

"Certainly not."

"Well, then" -

"Why, it does not much concern us, do you think it does?"

"No; I agree with you there. We must play the game to theend, and consent to be blindfold."

"Ah, you shall see; I promise you I will sustain my part toadmiration."

"I never once doubted your doing so." Monte Cristo chosethis moment for re-entering the drawing-room. On hearing thesound of his footsteps, the two men threw themselves in eachother's arms, and while they were in the midst of thisembrace, the count entered. "Well, marquis," said MonteCristo, "you appear to be in no way disappointed in the sonwhom your good fortune has restored to you."

"Ah, your excellency, I am overwhelmed with delight."

"And what are your feelings?" said Monte Cristo, turning tothe young man.

"As for me, my heart is overflowing with happiness."

"Happy father, happy son!" said the count.

"There is only one thing which grieves me," observed themajor, "and that is the necessity for my leaving Paris sosoon."

"Ah, my dear M. Cavalcanti, I trust you will not leavebefore I have had the honor of presenting you to some of myfriends."

"I am at your service, sir," replied the major.

"Now, sir," said Monte Cristo, addressing Andrea, "make yourconfession."

"To whom?"

"Tell M. Cavalcanti something of the state of yourfinances."

"Ma foi, monsieur, you have touched upon a tender chord."

"Do you hear what he says, major?"

"Certainly I do."

"But do you understand?"

"I do."

"Your son says he requires money."

"Well, what would you have me do?" said the major.

"You should furnish him with some of course," replied MonteCristo.

"I?"

"Yes, you," said the count, at the same time advancingtowards Andrea, and slipping a packet of bank-notes into theyoung man's hand.

"What is this?"

"It is from your father."

"From my father?"

"Yes; did you not tell him just now that you wanted money?Well, then, he deputes me to give you this."

"Am I to consider this as part of my income on account?"

"No, it is for the first expenses of your settling inParis."

"Ah, how good my dear father is!"

"Silence," said Monte Cristo; "he does not wish you to knowthat it comes from him."

"I fully appreciate his delicacy," said Andrea, cramming thenotes hastily into his pocket.

"And now, gentlemen, I wish you good-morning," said MonteCristo.

"And when shall we have the honor of seeing you again, yourexcellency?" asked Cavalcanti.

"Ah," said Andrea, "when may we hope for that pleasure?"

"On Saturday, if you will - Yes. - Let me see - Saturday- I am to dine at my country house, at Auteuil, on thatday, Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28. Several persons areinvited, and among others, M. Danglars, your banker. I willintroduce you to him, for it will be necessary he shouldknow you, as he is to pay your money."

"Full dress?" said the major, half aloud.

"Oh, yes, certainly," said the count; "uniform, cross,knee-breeches."

"And how shall I be dressed?" demanded Andrea.

"Oh, very simply; black trousers, patent leather boots,white waistcoat, either a black or blue coat, and a longcravat. Go to Blin or Veronique for your clothes. Baptistinwill tell you where, if you do not know their address. Theless pretension there is in your attire, the better will bethe effect, as you are a rich man. If you mean to buy anyhorses, get them of Devedeux, and if you purchase a phaeton,go to Baptiste for it."

"At what hour shall we come?" asked the young man.

"About half-past six."

"We will be with you at that time," said the major. The twoCavalcanti bowed to the count, and left the house. MonteCristo went to the window, and saw them crossing the street,arm in arm. "There go two miscreants;" said he, "it is apity they are not really related!" - then, after an instantof gloomy reflection, "Come, I will go to see the Morrels,"said he; "I think that disgust is even more sickening thanhatred."