Chapter 146: Chapter 146

Both the count and his butler had been telling the truth when they’d informed Albert about the major’s visit. Monte Cristo had used this appointment as his excuse to decline Albert’s dinner invitation. The clock had just struck seven, and Bertuccio had left for the estate two hours earlier, just as he’d been ordered, when a taxi pulled up to the mansion gates. The passenger stepped out quickly, and the cab sped away as if embarrassed to be seen there.

The visitor looked to be about fifty-two years old, wearing an outdated green military-style coat decorated with black braided trim, the kind that had been popular across Europe decades ago, but now out of style. His blue cloth pants were paired with reasonably clean boots, though they could’ve used a better polish and had soles that were slightly too thick. He wore buckskin gloves and a hat that looked vaguely like something a police officer might wear. Around his neck was a black cravat with white stripes that, honestly, resembled a noose if you looked at it the wrong way.

This was the man who rang the doorbell and asked if it was the residence of the Count of Monte Cristo. When the porter confirmed it was, he entered, closed the gate behind him, and began climbing the steps.

His small, angular head, white hair, and thick gray mustache made him easy to recognize. The butler, Baptistin, had received a detailed description of the expected guest and was waiting in the entrance hall. The moment the stranger announced himself, the count was notified. He was shown into an elegant yet understated drawing room, where the count rose to greet him with a welcoming smile.

"Ah, my dear sir, you’re most welcome. I was expecting you."

"Really?" said the Italian man. "Your excellency knew I was coming?"

"Yes, I was told I’d see you today at seven o’clock."

"Then you received all the information about my arrival?"

"Ah, excellent. I was worried that detail might have been forgotten."

"Letting you know I was coming beforehand."

"But you’re certain you’re not mistaken?"

"Completely certain."

"It was really me you were expecting at seven o’clock this evening?"

"I can prove it beyond any doubt."

"Oh no, that’s not necessary," the Italian said quickly.

"No, really, let me confirm," Monte Cristo insisted. His visitor looked slightly nervous. "Let’s see... Aren’t you the Marquis Bartolomeo Cavalcanti?"

"Bartolomeo Cavalcanti!" the Italian responded with obvious relief. "Yes, that’s me!"

"Former major in the Austrian military?"

"Was I a major?" the old soldier asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Monte Cristo said. "You were a major. That’s the rank the French use for the position you held in Italy."

"Very good," the major said. "I don’t need anything more than that, you understand-"

"Your visit here today wasn’t your own idea, was it?" Monte Cristo interrupted.

"Someone else sent you?"

"The excellent Father Busoni?"

"Exactly!" the major said, visibly delighted.

"And you have a letter?"

"Let me see it then." Monte Cristo took the letter, opened it, and began reading. The major stared at the count with wide eyes, then glanced around the luxurious apartment, though his gaze kept returning to his host.

"Yes, yes, I see," Monte Cristo read aloud. "’Major Cavalcanti, a respected nobleman from Lucca, descended from the Cavalcanti family of Florence, possessing an income of half a million.’"

Monte Cristo looked up from the paper and bowed slightly. "Half a million, magnificent!"

"Half a million, is it?" the major echoed.

"Yes, that’s what it says. And it must be accurate, the father knows the exact value of all the largest fortunes in Europe."

"If it’s half a million, then so be it. But honestly, I had no idea it was that much."

"That’s because your estate manager is robbing you blind. You need to fix that situation."

"You’ve opened my eyes," the Italian said seriously. "I’ll fire him immediately."

Monte Cristo continued reading, "’And who only needs one thing more to make him happy.’"

"Yes, just one thing!" the major said with a sigh.

"’Which is to recover his lost and beloved son.’"

"A lost and beloved son!"

"’Stolen away in his childhood, either by an enemy of his noble family or by wandering criminals.’"

"At the age of five!" the major said with a deep sigh, raising his eyes toward the ceiling.

"Unhappy father," Monte Cristo said sympathetically. He continued reading, "’I have given him renewed hope, assuring him that you have the power to restore the son he’s searched for in vain for fifteen years.’"

The major looked at the count with an indescribable expression of anxiety.

"I do have that power," Monte Cristo said calmly.

The major’s composure returned.

"So the letter was accurate all the way through?"

"Did you doubt it, my dear Mr. Cavalcanti?"

"No, not at all! A good man, especially a religious man like Father Busoni, wouldn’t deceive anyone or play games. But your excellency hasn’t read everything."

"Ah, true," Monte Cristo said. "There’s a postscript."

"Yes, yes," the major repeated eagerly, "there is a postscript."

"’To save Major Cavalcanti the trouble of arranging funds with his banker, I’m sending him two thousand francs for travel expenses, and authorizing you to provide him with the additional forty-eight thousand francs you still owe me.’"

The major waited for the count’s reaction with obvious anxiety.

"Very good," the count said simply.

"He said ’very good,’" the major muttered. "Then, sir-"

"Then what?" Monte Cristo asked.

"Then the postscript-"

"You accept the postscript as readily as the rest of the letter?"

"Certainly. Father Busoni and I have a small account between us. I’m not sure if it’s exactly forty-eight thousand francs I owe him, but I’m sure we won’t argue over the difference. You placed great importance on this postscript, my dear Mr. Cavalcanti?"

"I should explain," the major said, "that I fully trusted Father Busoni’s word and didn’t bring any other funds with me. If this arrangement had fallen through, I would have found myself in a very awkward position here in Paris."

"How is it possible that a man of your standing could be embarrassed anywhere?" Monte Cristo asked.

"Well, I don’t really know anyone here," the major admitted.

"But surely others know you?"

"Yes, I’m known, so-"

"Please, continue, my dear Mr. Cavalcanti."

"So you’ll give me these forty-eight thousand francs?"

"Certainly, whenever you request it."

The major’s eyes widened with pleasant surprise.

"But please, sit down," Monte Cristo said. "I don’t know what I was thinking, I’ve kept you standing for the last fifteen minutes."

"Don’t worry about it." The major pulled an armchair closer and sat down.

"Now," the count said, "what would you like? A glass of sherry, port, or sweet wine?"

"Sweet wine, if you have it. That’s my favorite."

"I have some excellent vintage. You’ll have a biscuit with it, won’t you?"

"Yes, I’ll take a biscuit. You’re very kind."

Monte Cristo rang a bell. Baptistin appeared, and the count walked over to meet him. Updates are released by ⓝovelFire.net

"Well?" he said quietly.

"The young man is here," the butler replied in the same low tone.

"Which room did you put him in?"

"The blue drawing room, as you ordered, your excellency."

"Perfect. Now bring the sweet wine and some biscuits."

"Really," the major said, "I feel terrible about causing you all this trouble."

"Please, don’t mention it," the count replied.

Baptistin returned with glasses, wine, and biscuits. The count filled one glass completely, but in the other he poured only a few drops of the ruby-red liquid. The bottle was covered with cobwebs and showed all the signs of truly aged wine. The major made a wise choice, he took the full glass and a biscuit. The count told Baptistin to leave the plate within easy reach of his guest, who began sipping the sweet wine with obvious satisfaction before delicately dipping his biscuit in it.

"So, sir, you lived in Lucca? You were wealthy, noble, highly respected, you had everything that could make a man happy?"

"Everything," the major said, quickly swallowing his biscuit. "Absolutely everything."

"And yet one thing was missing to complete your happiness?"

"Only one thing," the Italian confirmed.

"And that one thing was your lost child."

"Ah," the major said, reaching for a second biscuit. "That completion of my happiness was indeed missing." He raised his eyes dramatically and sighed.

"Tell me, then," the count said, "about this deeply missed son. I’d always understood you were a bachelor."

"That was the general belief, sir," the major said. "And I-"

"Yes," the count replied, "and you confirmed that belief. A youthful mistake, I assume, which you were anxious to hide from the world?"

The major regained his composure and resumed his usual calm manner, casting his eyes downward, either to give himself time to collect his thoughts or to help his imagination along. Meanwhile, he kept glancing at the count, whose polite smile suggested continued friendly curiosity.