CHAPTER XLIV
THE VENDETTA
ROM what point shall I commence my story, M. le Comte?" asked Bertuccio.
"From where you please," returned Monte-Cristo, "since I know nothing at all of it."
"I thought M. l'Abbé Busoni had told your excellency."
"Some particulars, doubtless; but that is seven or eight years ago, and I have forgotten them."
"Then I can speak without fear of tiring your excellency."
"Go on, M. Bertuccio; you will supply the want of the evening papers."
"The story begins in 1815."
"Ah," said Monte-Cristo, "1815 is not yesterday."
"No, monsieur; and yet I recollect all things as clearly as if they had happened but then. I had a brother, an elder brother, who was in the service of the emperor; he had become lieutenant in a regiment composed entirely of Corsicans. This brother was my only friend; we became orphans I at five, he at eighteen. He brought me up as if I had been his son, and in 1814 he married. When the emperor returned from the island of Elba, my brother instantly joined the army, was slightly wounded at Waterloo, and retired with the army behind the Loire."
"But that is the history of the Hundred Days, M. Bertuccio," said the count; "unless I am mistaken, it has been already written."
"Excuse me, excellency, but these details are necessary, and you promised to be patient."
"Go on; I will keep my word."
"One day we received a letter. I should tell you that we lived in the little village of Rogliano, at the extremity of Cape Corsica. This letter
267
