M. de Villefort kept the promise he had made to MadameDanglars, to endeavor to find out how the Count of MonteCristo had discovered the history of the house at Auteuil.He wrote the same day for the required information to M. deBoville, who, from having been an inspector of prisons, waspromoted to a high office in the police; and the latterbegged for two days time to ascertain exactly who would bemost likely to give him full particulars. At the end of thesecond day M. de Villefort received the following note: -

"The person called the Count of Monte Cristo is an intimateacquaintance of Lord Wilmore, a rich foreigner, who issometimes seen in Paris and who is there at this moment; heis also known to the Abbe Busoni, a Sicilian priest, of highrepute in the East, where he has done much good."

M. de Villefort replied by ordering the strictest inquiriesto be made respecting these two persons; his orders wereexecuted, and the following evening he received thesedetails: -

"The abbe, who was in Paris only for a month, inhabited asmall two-storied house behind Saint-Sulpice; there were tworooms on each floor and he was the only tenant. The twolower rooms consisted of a dining-room, with a table,chairs, and side-board of walnut, - and a wainscotedparlor, without ornaments, carpet, or timepiece. It wasevident that the abbe limited himself to objects of strictnecessity. He preferred to use the sitting-room upstairs,which was more library than parlor, and was furnished withtheological books and parchments, in which he delighted tobury himself for months at a time, according to his valet dechambre. His valet looked at the visitors through a sort ofwicket; and if their faces were unknown to him or displeasedhim, he replied that the abbe was not in Paris, an answerwhich satisfied most persons, because the abbe was known tobe a great traveller. Besides, whether at home or not,whether in Paris or Cairo, the abbe always left something togive away, which the valet distributed through this wicketin his master's name. The other room near the library was abedroom. A bed without curtains, four arm-chairs, and acouch, covered with yellow Utrecht velvet, composed, with aprie-Dieu, all its furniture. Lord Wilmore resided in RueFontaine-Saint-George. He was one of those English touristswho consume a large fortune in travelling. He hired theapartment in which he lived furnished, passed only a fewhours in the day there, and rarely slept there. One of hispeculiarities was never to speak a word of French, which hehowever wrote with great facility."

The day after this important information had been given tothe king's attorney, a man alighted from a carriage at thecorner of the Rue Ferou, and rapping at an olive-green door,asked if the Abbe Busoni were within. "No, he went out earlythis morning," replied the valet.

"I might not always be content with that answer," repliedthe visitor, "for I come from one to whom everyone must beat home. But have the kindness to give the Abbe Busoni" -

"I told you he was not at home," repeated the valet. "Thenon his return give him that card and this sealed paper. Willhe be at home at eight o'clock this evening?"

"Doubtless, unless he is at work, which is the same as if hewere out."

"I will come again at that time," replied the visitor, whothen retired.

At the appointed hour the same man returned in the samecarriage, which, instead of stopping this time at the end ofthe Rue Ferou, drove up to the green door. He knocked, andit opened immediately to admit him. From the signs ofrespect the valet paid him, he saw that his note hadproduced a good effect. "Is the abbe at home?" asked he.

"Yes; he is at work in his library, but he expects you,sir," replied the valet. The stranger ascended a roughstaircase, and before a table, illumined by a lamp whoselight was concentrated by a large shade while the rest ofthe apartment was in partial darkness, he perceived the abbein a monk's dress, with a cowl on his head such as was usedby learned men of the Middle Ages. "Have I the honor ofaddressing the Abbe Busoni?" asked the visitor.

"Yes, sir," replied the abbe; "and you are the person whomM. de Boville, formerly an inspector of prisons, sends to mefrom the prefect of police?"

"Exactly, sir."

"One of the agents appointed to secure the safety of Paris?"

"Yes, sir"" replied the stranger with a slight hesitation,and blushing.

The abbe replaced the large spectacles, which covered notonly his eyes but his temples, and sitting down motioned tohis visitor to do the same. "I am at your service, sir,"said the abbe, with a marked Italian accent.

"The mission with which I am charged, sir," replied thevisitor, speaking with hesitation, "is a confidential one onthe part of him who fulfils it, and him by whom he isemployed." The abbe bowed. "Your probity," replied thestranger, "is so well known to the prefect that he wishes asa magistrate to ascertain from you some particularsconnected with the public safety, to ascertain which I amdeputed to see you. It is hoped that no ties of friendshipor humane consideration will induce you to conceal thetruth."

"Provided, sir, the particulars you wish for do notinterfere with my scruples or my conscience. I am a priest,sir, and the secrets of confession, for instance, mustremain between me and God, and not between me and humanjustice."

"Do not alarm yourself, monsieur, we will duly respect yourconscience."

At this moment the abbe pressed down his side of the shadeand so raised it on the other, throwing a bright light onthe stranger's face, while his own remained obscured."Excuse me, abbe," said the envoy of the prefect of thepolice, "but the light tries my eyes very much." The abbelowered the shade. "Now, sir, I am listening - go on."

"I will come at once to the point. Do you know the Count ofMonte Cristo?"

"You mean Monsieur Zaccone, I presume?"

"Zaccone? - is not his name Monte Cristo?"

"Monte Cristo is the name of an estate, or, rather, of arock, and not a family name."

"Well, be it so - let us not dispute about words; and sinceM. de Monte Cristo and M. Zaccone are the same" -

"Absolutely the same."

"Let us speak of M. Zaccone."

"Agreed."

"I asked you if you knew him?"

"Extremely well."

"Who is he?"

"The son of a rich shipbuilder in Malta."

"I know that is the report; but, as you are aware, thepolice does not content itself with vague reports."

"However," replied the abbe, with an affable smile, "whenthat report is in accordance with the truth, everybody mustbelieve it, the police as well as all the rest."

"Are you sure of what you assert?"

"What do you mean by that question?"

"Understand, sir, I do not in the least suspect yourveracity; I ask if you are certain of it?"

"I knew his father, M. Zaccone."

"Ah, indeed?"

"And when a child I often played with the son in thetimber-yards."

"But whence does he derive the title of count?"

"You are aware that may be bought."

"In Italy?"

"Everywhere."

"And his immense riches, whence does he procure them?"

"They may not be so very great."

"How much do you suppose he possesses?"

"From one hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand livresper annum."

"That is reasonable," said the visitor; "I have heard he hadthree or four millions."

"Two hundred thousand per annum would make four millions ofcapital."

"But I was told he had four millions per annum?"

"That is not probable."

"Do you know this Island of Monte Cristo?"

"Certainly, every one who has come from Palermo, Naples, orRome to France by sea must know it, since he has passedclose to it and must have seen it."

"I am told it is a delightful place?"

"It is a rock."

"And why has the count bought a rock?"

"For the sake of being a count. In Italy one must haveterritorial possessions to be a count."

"You have, doubtless, heard the adventures of M. Zaccone'syouth?"

"The father's?"

"No, the son's."

"I know nothing certain; at that period of his life, I lostsight of my young comrade."

"Was he in the wars?"

"I think he entered the service."

"In what branch?"

"In the navy."

"Are you not his confessor?"

"No, sir; I believe he is a Lutheran."

"A Lutheran?"

"I say, I believe such is the case, I do not affirm it;besides, liberty of conscience is established in France."

"Doubtless, and we are not now inquiring into his creed, buthis actions; in the name of the prefect of police, I ask youwhat you know of him.

"He passes for a very charitable man. Our holy father, thepope, has made him a knight of Jesus Christ for the serviceshe rendered to the Christians in the East; he has five orsix rings as testimonials from Eastern monarchs of hisservices."

"Does he wear them?"

"No, but he is proud of them; he is better pleased withrewards given to the benefactors of man than to hisdestroyers."

"He is a Quaker then?"

"Exactly, he is a Quaker, with the exception of the peculiardress."

"Has he any friends?"

"Yes, every one who knows him is his friend."

"But has he any enemies?"

"One only."

"What is his name?"

"Lord Wilmore."

"Where is he?"

"He is in Paris just now."

"Can he give me any particulars?"

"Important ones; he was in India with Zaccone."

"Do you know his abode?"

"It's somewhere in the Chaussee d'Antin; but I know neitherthe street nor the number."

"Are you at variance with the Englishman?"

"I love Zaccone, and he hates him; we are consequently notfriends."

"Do you think the Count of Monte Cristo had ever been inFrance before he made this visit to Paris?"

"To that question I can answer positively; no, sir, he hadnot, because he applied to me six months ago for theparticulars he required, and as I did not know when I mightagain come to Paris, I recommended M. Cavalcanti to him."

"Andrea?"

"No, Bartolomeo, his father."

"Now, sir, I have but one question more to ask, and I chargeyou, in the name of honor, of humanity, and of religion, toanswer me candidly."

"What is it, sir?"

"Do you know with what design M. de Monte Cristo purchased ahouse at Auteuil?"

"Certainly, for he told me."

"What is it, sir?"

"To make a lunatic asylum of it, similar to that founded bythe Count of Pisani at Palermo. Do you know about thatinstitution?"

"I have heard of it."

"It is a magnificent charity." Having said this, the abbebowed to imply he wished to pursue his studies. The visitoreither understood the abbe's meaning, or had no morequestions to ask; he arose, and the abbe accompanied him tothe door. "You are a great almsgiver," said the visitor,"and although you are said to be rich, I will venture tooffer you something for your poor people; will you accept myoffering?"

"I thank you, sir; I am only jealous in one thing, and thatis that the relief I give should be entirely from my ownresources."

"However" -

"My resolution, sir, is unchangeable, but you have only tosearch for yourself and you will find, alas, but too manyobjects upon whom to exercise your benevolence." The abbeonce more bowed as he opened the door, the stranger bowedand took his leave, and the carriage conveyed him straightto the house of M. de Villefort. An hour afterwards thecarriage was again ordered, and this time it went to the RueFontaine-Saint-George, and stopped at No. 5, where LordWilmore lived. The stranger had written to Lord Wilmore,requesting an interview, which the latter had fixed for teno'clock. As the envoy of the prefect of police arrived tenminutes before ten, he was told that Lord Wilmore, who wasprecision and punctuality personified, was not yet come in,but that he would be sure to return as the clock struck.

The visitor was introduced into the drawing-room, which waslike all other furnished drawing-rooms. A mantle-piece, withtwo modern Sevres vases, a timepiece representing Cupid withhis bent bow, a mirror with an engraving on each side - onerepresenting Homer carrying his guide, the other, Belisariusbegging - a grayish paper; red and black tapestry - suchwas the appearance of Lord Wilmore's drawing-room. It wasilluminated by lamps with ground-glass shades which gaveonly a feeble light, as if out of consideration for theenvoy's weak sight. After ten minutes' expectation the clockstruck ten; at the fifth stroke the door opened and LordWilmore appeared. He was rather above the middle height,with thin reddish whiskers, light complexion and light hair,turning rather gray. He was dressed with all the Englishpeculiarity, namely, in a blue coat, with gilt buttons andhigh collar, in the fashion of 1811, a white kerseymerewaistcoat, and nankeen pantaloons, three inches too short,but which were prevented by straps from slipping up to theknee. His first remark on entering was, - "You know, sir, Ido not speak French?"

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

"And I," replied the visitor, changing his idiom, "knowenough of English to keep up the conversation. Do not putyourself to the slightest inconvenience."

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

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

Then began the questions, which were similar to those whichhad been addressed to the Abbe Busoni. But as Lord Wilmore,in the character of the count's enemy, was less restrainedin his answers, they were more numerous; he described theyouth of Monte Cristo, who he said, at ten years of age,entered the service of one of the petty sovereigns of Indiawho make war on the English. It was there Wilmore had firstmet him and fought against him; and in that war Zaccone hadbeen taken prisoner, sent to England, and consigned to thehulks, whence he had escaped by swimming. Then began histravels, his duels, his caprices; then the insurrection inGreece broke out, and he had served in the Grecian ranks.While in that service he had discovered a silver mine in themountains of Thessaly, but he had been careful to conceal itfrom every one. After the battle of Navarino, when the Greekgovernment was consolidated, he asked of King Otho a mininggrant for that district, which was given him. Hence thatimmense fortune, which, in Lord Wilmore's opinion, possiblyamounted to one or two millions per annum, - a precariousfortune, which might be momentarily lost by the failure ofthe mine.

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

"He is speculating in railways," said Lord Wilmore, "and ashe is an expert chemist and physicist, he has invented a newsystem of telegraphy, which he is seeking to bring toperfection."

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

"Not more than five or six hundred thousand francs," saidLord Wilmore; "he is a miser." Hatred evidently inspired theEnglishman, who, knowing no other reproach to bring on thecount, accused him of avarice. "Do you know his house atAuteuil?"

"Certainly."

"What do you know respecting it?"

"Do you wish to know why he bought it?"

"Yes."

"The count is a speculator, who will certainly ruin himselfin experiments. He supposes there is in the neighborhood ofthe house he has bought a mineral spring equal to those atBagneres, Luchon, and Cauterets. He is going to turn hishouse into a Badhaus, as the Germans term it. He has alreadydug up all the garden two or three times to find the famousspring, and, being unsuccessful, he will soon purchase allthe contiguous houses. Now, as I dislike him, and hope hisrailway, his electric telegraph, or his search for baths,will ruin him, I am watching for his discomfiture, whichmust soon take place."

"What was the cause of your quarrel?"

"When he was in England he seduced the wife of one of myfriends."

"Why do you not seek revenge?"

"I have already fought three duels with him," said theEnglishman, "the first with the pistol, the second with thesword, and the third with the sabre."

"And what was the result of those duels?"

"The first time, he broke my arm; the second, he wounded mein the breast; and the third time, made this large wound."The Englishman turned down his shirt-collar, and showed ascar, whose redness proved it to be a recent one. "So that,you see, there is a deadly feud between us."

"But," said the envoy, "you do not go about it in the rightway to kill him, if I understand you correctly."

"Aw?" said the Englishman, "I practice shooting every day,and every other day Grisier comes to my house."

This was all the visitor wished to ascertain, or, rather,all the Englishman appeared to know. The agent arose, andhaving bowed to Lord Wilmore, who returned his salutationwith the stiff politeness of the English, he retired. LordWilmore, having heard the door close after him, returned tohis bedroom, where with one hand he pulled off his lighthair, his red whiskers, his false jaw, and his wound, toresume the black hair, dark complexion, and pearly teeth ofthe Count of Monte Cristo. It was M. de Villefort, and notthe prefect, who returned to the house of M. de Villefort.The procureur felt more at ease, although he had learnednothing really satisfactory, and, for the first time sincethe dinner-party at Auteuil, he slept soundly.