man had served under him, and furnished a sure test of the change in his appearance. Going straight toward him, he commenced a variety of questions, to which the man replied without a word or look implying his having the slightest idea of ever having seen before the individual with whom he was then conversing.
Giving the sailor a piece of money in return for his civility, Dantès proceeded onward; but ere he had gone many steps he heard the man loudly calling him to stop.
Dantès instantly turned to meet him.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said the honest fellow, "but I believe you made a mistake: you intended to give me a two-franc piece, and see, you gave me a double Napoleon."
"Thank you, my good friend. I see that I have made a mistake; but by way of rewarding your honest spirit, I give you another double Napoleon, that you may drink to my health, with your messmates."
So extreme was the surprise of the sailor, that he was unable even to thank Edmond, whose receding figure he continued to gaze after, saying to himself, "Ah, that's one of those nabobs from India."
Dantès, meanwhile, continued his route. Each step he trod oppressed his heart with fresh emotion: his first and most indelible recollections were there: not a corner, not a street, not a crossing that he passed but seemed filled with dear and cherished reminiscences. At the end of the Rue de Noailles, a view of the Allées de Meilhan was obtained. At this spot his knees tottered under him, he had almost fallen beneath the wheels of a vehicle. Finally, he found himself at the door of the house in which his father had lived.
The nasturtiums and other plants, which his parent had delighted to train before his window, had all disappeared from the upper part of the house.
Leaning against a tree, he remained long gazing on those windows, then he advanced to the door, and inquired whether there were any chambers to be let. Though answered in the negative, he begged so earnestly to be permitted to visit those on the fifth floor, that the concierge went up to the present possessors and asked permission for a gentleman to be allowed to look at them. The tenants of the humble lodging were a young couple who had been scarcely married a week, and the sight sent a pang through his heart.
Nothing in the two small chambers recalled his father; the very paper was different, while the articles of antiquated furniture with which the rooms had been filled in Edmond's time had all disappeared; the four walls alone remained as he had left them.
The bed was placed as the former owner had been accustomed to
