"It really was I whom your excellency expected at seven o'clock this evening!"
"I will prove it to you beyond a doubt."
"Oh, no, never mind that," said the Italian; "it is not worth the trouble."
"Yes, yes," said Monte-Cristo. His visitor appeared slightly uneasy.
"Let me see," said the count; "are you not M. le Marquis Bartolomeo Cavalcanti?"
"Bartolomeo Cavalcanti," joyfully replied the Italian; "yes, I am really he."
"Ex-major in the Austrian service?"
"Was I a major?" timidly asked the old soldier.
"Yes," said Monte-Cristo, "you were a major; that is the title the French give to the post which you filled in Italy."
"Very good," said the major, "I do not demand more, you understand"
"Your visit here to-day is not of your own suggestion, is it?" said Monte-Cristo.
"No, certainly not."
"You were sent by some other person?"
"Yes."
"By the excellent Abbe Busoni?"
"Exactly so," said the delighted major.
"And you have a letter?"
"Yes, there it is."
"Give it to me, then." And Monte-Cristo took the letter, which he opened and read. The major looked at the count with his large staring eyes, and then took a survey of the apartment, but his gaze almost immediately reverted to the proprietor of the room.
"Yes, yes, I see."
"'Major Cavalcanti, a worthy patrician of Lucca, a descendant of the Cavalcanti of Florence, possessing an income of half a million.'"}
Monte-Cristo raised his eyes from the paper, and bowed.
"Half a million," said he; "magnificent!"
"Half a million, is it?" said the major.
"Yes, in so many words; and it must be so, for the abbe knows correctly the amount of all the largest fortunes in Europe."
"Be it half a million, then; but, on my word of honor, I had no idea that it was so much."
"Because you are robbed by your steward. You must make some reformation in that quarter."
