“How much do you suppose he possesses?”
“From one hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand livres per annum.”
“That is reasonable,” said the visitor; “I have heard he had three or four millions.”
“Two hundred thousand per annum would make four millions of capital.”
“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, or Rome to France by sea must know it, since he has passed close 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 have territorial possessions to be a count.”
“You have, doubtless, heard the adventures of M. Zaccone’s youth?”
“The father’s?”
“No, the son’s.”
“I know nothing certain; at that period of his life, I lost sight 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, but his actions; in the name of the prefect of police, I ask you what you know of him.
“He passes for a very charitable man. Our holy father, the pope, has made him a knight of Jesus Christ for the services he rendered to the Christians in the East; he has five or six rings as testimonials from Eastern monarchs of his services.”
“Does he wear them?”
“No, but he is proud of them; he is better pleased with rewards given to the benefactors of man than to his destroyers.”
“He is a Quaker then?”
“Exactly, he is a Quaker, with the exception of the peculiar dress.”
“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 neither the street nor the number.”
“Are you at variance with the Englishman?”
“I love Zaccone, and he hates him; we are consequently not friends.”
“Do you think the Count of Monte Cristo had ever been in France before he made this visit to Paris?”
“To that question I can answer positively; no, sir, he had not, because he applied to me six months ago for the particulars he required, and as I did not know when I might again 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 charge you, in the name of honor, of humanity, and of religion, to answer me candidly.”
“What is it, sir?”
“Do you know with what design M. de Monte Cristo purchased a house at Auteuil?”
“Certainly, for he told me.”
“What is it, sir?”
“To make a lunatic asylum of it, similar to that founded by the Count of Pisani at Palermo. Do you know about that institution?”
“I have heard of it.”
“It is a magnificent charity.” Having said this, the abbe bowed to imply he wished to pursue his studies. The visitor either understood the abbe’s meaning, or had no more questions to ask; he arose, and the abbe accompanied him to the door. “You are a great almsgiver,” said the visitor, “and although you are said to be rich, I will venture to offer you something for your poor people; will you accept my offering?”
“I thank you, sir; I am only jealous in one thing, and that is that the relief I give should be entirely from my own resources.”
“However” —
“My resolution, sir, is unchangeable, but you have only to search for yourself and you will find, alas, but too many objects upon whom to exercise your benevolence.” The abbe once more bowed as he opened the door, the stranger bowed and took his leave, and the carriage conveyed him straight to the house of M. de Villefort. An hour afterwards the carriage was again ordered, and this time it went to the Rue Fontaine-Saint-George, and stopped at No. 5, where Lord Wilmore lived. The stranger had written to Lord Wilmore, requesting an interview, which the latter had fixed for ten o’clock. As the envoy of the prefect of police arrived ten minutes before ten, he was told that Lord Wilmore, who was precision and punctuality personified, was not yet come in, but that he would be sure to return as the clock struck.