Chapter 43 - Page 2

who
married M. de Villefort, who had been the king's attorney at
Nimes, and afterwards at Versailles." Monte Cristo glanced
at Bertuccio, who became whiter than the wall against which
he leaned to prevent himself from falling. "And is not this
daughter dead?" demanded Monte Cristo; "I fancy I have heard
so."

"Yes, monsieur, one and twenty years ago; and since then we
have not seen the poor marquis three times."

"Thanks, thanks," said Monte Cristo, judging from the
steward's utter prostration that he could not stretch the
cord further without danger of breaking it. "Give me a
light."

"Shall I accompany you, monsieur?"

"No, it is unnecessary; Bertuccio will show me a light." And
Monte Cristo accompanied these words by the gift of two gold
pieces, which produced a torrent of thanks and blessings
from the concierge. "Ah, monsieur," said he, after having
vainly searched on the mantle-piece and the shelves, "I have
not got any candles."

"Take one of the carriage-lamps, Bertuccio," said the count,
"and show me the apartments." The steward obeyed in silence,
but it was easy to see, from the manner in which the hand
that held the light trembled, how much it cost him to obey.
They went over a tolerably large ground-floor; a second
floor consisted of a salon, a bathroom, and two bedrooms;
near one of the bedrooms they came to a winding staircase
that led down to the garden.

"Ah, here is a private staircase," said the count; "that is
convenient. Light me, M. Bertuccio, and go first; we will
see where it leads to."

"Monsieur," replied Bertuccio, "it leads to the garden."

"And, pray, how do you know that?"

"It ought to do so, at least."

"Well, let us be sure of that." Bertuccio sighed, and went
on first; the stairs did, indeed, lead to the garden. At the
outer door the steward paused. "Go on, Monsieur Bertuccio,"
said the count. But he who was addressed stood there,
stupefied, bewildered, stunned; his haggard eyes glanced
around, as if in search of the traces of some terrible
event, and with his clinched hands he seemed striving to
shut out horrible recollections. "Well," insisted the Count.
"No, no," cried Bertuccio, setting down the lantern at the
angle of the interior wall. "No, monsieur, it is impossible;
I can go no farther."

"What does this mean?" demanded the irresistible voice of
Monte Cristo.

"Why, you must see, your excellency," cried the steward,
"that this is not natural; that, having a house to purchase,
you purchase it exactly at Auteuil, and that, purchasing it
at Auteuil, this house should be No. 28, Rue de la Fontaine.
Oh, why did I not tell you all? I am sure you would not have