Chapter 42. Monsieur Bertuccio
Meanwhile the count had arrived at his house; it had taken him sixminutes to perform the distance, but these six minutes were sufficientto induce twenty young men who knew the price of the equipage they hadbeen unable to purchase themselves, to put their horses in a gallop inorder to see the rich foreigner who could afford to give 20,000 francsapiece for his horses.
The house Ali had chosen, and which was to serve as a town residence toMonte Cristo, was situated on the right hand as you ascend the Champs-Élysées. A thick clump of trees and shrubs rose in the centre, andmasked a portion of the front; around this shrubbery two alleys, liketwo arms, extended right and left, and formed a carriage-drive from theiron gates to a double portico, on every step of which stood a porcelainvase, filled with flowers. This house, isolated from the rest, had,besides the main entrance, another in the Rue de Ponthieu. Even beforethe coachman had hailed the concierge, the massy gates rolled on theirhinges—they had seen the Count coming, and at Paris, as everywhere else,he was served with the rapidity of lightning. The coachman entered andtraversed the half-circle without slackening his speed, and the gateswere closed ere the wheels had ceased to sound on the gravel. Thecarriage stopped at the left side of the portico, two men presentedthemselves at the carriage-window; the one was Ali, who, smiling with anexpression of the most sincere joy, seemed amply repaid by a mere lookfrom Monte Cristo. The other bowed respectfully, and offered his arm toassist the count in descending.
“Thanks, M. Bertuccio,” said the count, springing lightly up the threesteps of the portico; “and the notary?”
“He is in the small salon, excellency,” returned Bertuccio.
“And the cards I ordered to be engraved as soon as you knew the numberof the house?”
“Your excellency, it is done already. I have been myself to the bestengraver of the Palais Royal, who did the plate in my presence. Thefirst card struck off was taken, according to your orders, to the BaronDanglars, Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin, No. 7; the others are on themantle-piece of your excellency’s bedroom.”
“Good; what o’clock is it?”
“Four o’clock.”
Monte Cristo gave his hat, cane, and gloves to the same French footmanwho had called his carriage at the Count of Morcerf’s, and then hepassed into the small salon, preceded by Bertuccio, who showed him theway.
“These are but indifferent marbles in this antechamber,” said MonteCristo. “I trust all this will soon be taken away.”
Bertuccio bowed. As the steward had said, the notary awaited him in thesmall salon. He was a simple-looking lawyer’s clerk, elevated to theextraordinary dignity of a provincial scrivener.
“You are the notary empowered to sell the country house that I wish topurchase, monsieur?” asked Monte Cristo.
“Yes, count,” returned the notary.
“Is the deed of sale ready?”
“Yes, count.”
“Have you brought it?”
“Here it is.”
“Very well; and where is this house that I purchase?” asked the countcarelessly, addressing himself half to Bertuccio, half to the notary.The steward made a gesture that signified, “I do not know.” The notarylooked at the count with astonishment.
“What!” said he, “does not the count know where the house he purchasesis situated?”
“No,” returned the count.
“The count does not know?”
“How should I know? I have arrived from Cadiz this morning. I have neverbefore been at Paris, and it is the first time I have ever even set myfoot 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; acharming situation, in the heart of the Bois de Boulogne.”
“So near as that?” said the Count; “but that is not in the country. Whatmade you choose a house at the gates of Paris, M. Bertuccio?”
“I,” cried the steward with a strange expression. “His excellency didnot charge me to purchase this house. If his excellency willrecollect—if he will think——”
“Ah, true,” observed Monte Cristo; “I recollect now. I read theadvertisement 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 yourexcellency will intrust me with the commission, I will find you a betterat Enghien, at Fontenay-aux-Roses, or at Bellevue.”
“Oh, no,” returned Monte Cristo negligently; “since I have this, I willkeep 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, withoutreckoning the furniture, which, although old, is yet valuable, now thatold things are so much sought after. I suppose the count has the tastesof 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 partof the deed in which were specified the situation of the house and thenames 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 abundle of bank-notes, which the notary counted like a man who nevergives 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 newpossessions.”
“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; itis 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 oftime and trouble,” said the count; and he made a gesture of politedismissal.
The notary left the room backwards, and bowing down to the ground; itwas the first time he had ever met a similar client.
“See this gentleman out,” said the count to Bertuccio. And the stewardfollowed the notary out of the room.
Scarcely was the count alone, when he drew from his pocket a book closedwith a lock, and opened it with a key which he wore round his neck, andwhich never left him. After having sought for a few minutes, he stoppedat a leaf which had several notes, and compared them with the deed ofsale, which lay on the table, and recalling his souvenirs—
“‘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 physicalterror? However, in an hour I shall know all. Bertuccio!” cried he,striking a light hammer with a pliant handle on a small gong.“Bertuccio!”
The steward appeared at the door.
“Monsieur Bertuccio,” said the count, “did you never tell me that youhad travelled in France?”
“In some parts of France—yes, excellency.”
“You know the environs of Paris, then?”
“No, excellency, no,” returned the steward, with a sort of nervoustrembling, which Monte Cristo, a connoisseur in all emotions, rightlyattributed to great disquietude.
“It is unfortunate,” returned he, “that
you have never visited theenvirons, for I wish to see my new property this evening, and had yougone with me, you could have given me some useful information.”
“To Auteuil!” cried Bertuccio, whose copper complexion became livid—“Igo to Auteuil?”
“Well, what is there surprising in that? When I live at Auteuil, youmust come there, as you belong to my service.”
Bertuccio hung down his head before the imperious look of his master,and remained motionless, without making any answer.
“Why, what has happened to you?—are you going to make me ring a secondtime for the carriage?” asked Monte Cristo, in the same tone that LouisXIV. pronounced the famous, “I have been almost obliged to wait.”Bertuccio made but one bound to the antechamber, and cried in a hoarsevoice:
“His excellency’s horses!”
Monte Cristo wrote two or three notes, and, as he sealed the last, thesteward appeared.
“Your excellency’s carriage is at the door,” said he.
“Well, take your hat and gloves,” returned Monte Cristo.
“Am I to accompany you, your excellency?” cried Bertuccio.
“Certainly, you must give the orders, for I intend residing at thehouse.”
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It was unexampled for a servant of the count’s to dare to dispute anorder of his, so the steward, without saying a word, followed hismaster, who got into the carriage, and signed to him to follow, which hedid, taking his place respectfully on the front seat.