Chapter 149: Chapter 149

Andrea bowed low and entered the adjoining room. Monte Cristo watched until he disappeared, then pressed a hidden spring in what appeared to be a picture frame. The panel slid aside, revealing a small concealed opening that provided a perfect view into the drawing room where Cavalcanti and Andrea now stood.

The young man closed the door behind him and approached the major, who had risen at the sound of footsteps.

"Ah, my dear father!" Andrea said loudly, ensuring the Count could hear from the next room. "Is it really you?"

"How are you, my dear son?" the major replied gravely.

"After so many years of painful separation," Andrea continued in the same theatrical tone, glancing toward the door, "what happiness to finally meet again!"

"Indeed, after such a long separation."

"Won’t you embrace me, sir?" Andrea asked.

"If you wish it, my son."

The two men embraced like actors on stage, each resting his head on the other’s shoulder in a hollow display of affection.

"So we’re reunited at last?" Andrea said.

"At last," the major confirmed.

"Never to be separated again?"

"Well, as to that, I imagine you must be so accustomed to France by now that you consider it almost a second home."

"The truth is," the young man admitted, "I’d be extremely upset to leave."

"As for me, I simply cannot live outside my hometown. I’ll return to Italy as soon as possible."

"But before you leave France, I hope you’ll give me the documents that prove my identity."

"Certainly. That’s precisely why I came. It took great effort to find you, but I was determined to place these papers in your hands. Even if I’d had to spend my remaining years searching, I would have done so."

"Where are these papers?"

Andrea seized his father’s marriage certificate and his own baptismal record. He opened them eagerly, reading with an ease that proved his familiarity with such documents and an expression that revealed unusual interest in their contents. When he finished reading, a strange look of pleasure crossed his face. Looking at the major with a peculiar smile, he said in flawless Italian: "So there’s no longer such thing as being sentenced to hard labor?"

The major drew himself up to his full height.

"What do you mean by that question?"

"I mean that if there were, it would be impossible to forge two such documents with impunity. In France, half this level of audacity would get you sent to prison for five years."

"Would you care to explain yourself?" the major demanded, trying to assume an air of dignity.

"My dear Mr. Cavalcanti," Andrea said, taking the major’s arm confidentially, "how much are they paying you to be my father?"

The major started to speak, but Andrea continued in a low voice, "Don’t bother lying. I’ll set an example of honesty, they’re giving me fifty thousand a year to be your son. So you can understand I’m unlikely to ever deny my dear parent."

The major glanced around nervously.

"Relax, we’re completely alone," Andrea assured him. "Besides, we’re speaking Italian."

"Well then," the major admitted, "they paid me fifty thousand up front."

"Mr. Cavalcanti," Andrea said, "do you believe in fairy tales?"

"I didn’t used to, but now I’m almost forced to."

"So you’ve changed your opinion? You’ve had some proof?"

The major pulled a handful of gold coins from his pocket.

"Very tangible proof," he said. "As you can see."

"Then you think I can trust the Count’s promises?"

"You’re certain he’ll keep his word?"

"To the letter. But remember, we must continue playing our parts. I, as a loving father-"

"And I as a dutiful son, since they’ve decided I should be your descendant."

"Who do you mean by ’they’?"

"I can hardly say, but I’m referring to whoever wrote the letter. You received one, didn’t you?"

"A certain Abbé Busoni."

"Do you know anything about him?"

"No, I’ve never seen him."

"What did the letter say?"

"You promise not to betray me?"

"Of course. Our interests are aligned."

"Then read it yourself."

The major handed over a letter. Andrea read quietly:

"You are poor. A miserable old age awaits you. Would you like to become rich, or at least independent? Travel immediately to Paris and go to the Count of Monte Cristo’s residence. Ask for the son you had with Marchesa Corsinari, who was taken from you at age five. This son is named Andrea Cavalcanti. To prove the writer’s good intentions, you’ll find enclosed payment for expenses, plus a letter of introduction to the Count, who will provide additional funds. Come to the Count’s home on May 26th at seven in the evening. Signed, Abbé Busoni."

"It’s the same," Andrea muttered.

"What do you mean?" the major asked.

"I received a nearly identical letter."

"From an Englishman called Lord Wilmore, who goes by the name Sinbad the Sailor."

"And you know no more about him than I know about Abbé Busoni?"

"You’re mistaken, I’m ahead of you there."

"Ah, that I can’t tell you. If I did, you’d know as much as I do, which isn’t my intention."

"What did your letter say?"

"You are poor with bleak prospects. Do you want a name? Would you like to be rich and independent? Take the carriage waiting at the city gate as you enter Nice. Travel through Turin, Chambéry, and other towns to Paris. Go to the Count of Monte Cristo’s home on May 26th at seven in the evening and ask for your father. You are the son of Marquis Cavalcanti and Marchesa Oliva Corsinari. The marquis will give you papers certifying this and authorizing you to use that name in Parisian society. Your rank comes with an annual income of fifty thousand that will support you admirably. Enclosed is payment for expenses, plus a letter of introduction to the Count, who will supply all your needs. Signed, Sinbad the Sailor."

"Hmm," the major said. "Very good. You’ve seen the Count, you said?"

"And has he done everything the letter promised?"

"Do you understand it?"

"Someone’s being deceived."

"At least it’s neither you nor me."

"Why should we care?"

"I agree. We’ll play this game to the end and consent to being kept in the dark."

"You’ll see, I promise I’ll play my part brilliantly."

"I never doubted it."

Monte Cristo chose this moment to re-enter the drawing room. Hearing his footsteps, the two men threw themselves into each other’s arms. The Count walked in during their embrace.

"Well, marquis," Monte Cristo said, "you seem quite satisfied with the son fortune has restored to you."

"Ah, your excellency, I’m overwhelmed with joy!"

"And what are your feelings?" the Count asked, turning to Andrea.

"My heart overflows with happiness."

"Happy father, happy son!" the Count declared.

"There’s only one thing that grieves me," the major said. "The necessity of leaving Paris so soon."

"Ah, I trust you won’t leave before I’ve had the honor of introducing you to some of my friends."

"I’m at your service, sir."

"Now," Monte Cristo said, addressing Andrea, "make your confession."

"Tell Mr. Cavalcanti about your financial situation."

"Ah, sir, you’ve touched on a sensitive subject." ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ novｅlfire.net

"Do you hear, major?"

"Your son says he needs money."

"What would you have me do?" the major asked.

"Provide him some, of course," Monte Cristo replied.

"Yes, you," the Count said, moving toward Andrea and slipping a packet of banknotes into the young man’s hand.

"It’s from your father."

"Yes. Didn’t you just tell him you needed money? He’s asked me to give you this."

"Should I consider this part of my allowance?"

"No, it’s for your initial expenses settling in Paris."

"How generous my dear father is!"

"Quiet," Monte Cristo said. "He doesn’t want you to know it’s from him."

"I fully appreciate his discretion," Andrea said, quickly cramming the notes into his pocket.

"And now, gentlemen, I bid you good morning."

"When will we have the honor of seeing you again, your excellency?" Cavalcanti asked.

"Yes, when may we hope for that pleasure?" Andrea added.

"Saturday, if it suits you. I’m hosting dinner at my country house that day, number 28 Fountain Street. Several people are invited, including Mr. Danglars, your banker. I’ll introduce you, since he needs to know you as he’ll be handling your funds."

"Full formal dress?" the major asked quietly.

"Oh yes, certainly. Uniform, medals, formal attire."

"And how should I dress?" Andrea asked.

"Simply. Black trousers, polished shoes, white vest, black or blue coat, and a long tie. Visit the best tailors. Baptistin will give you their addresses if you don’t know them. The less flashy your clothing, the better the effect, since you’re a wealthy man. If you want to buy horses, go to Devedeux. For a carriage, see Baptiste."

"What time should we arrive?" the young man asked.

"We’ll be there," the major confirmed.

The two Cavalcantis bowed to the Count and left. Monte Cristo went to the window and watched them cross the street arm in arm.

"There go two criminals," he muttered. "Pity they’re not actually related."

After a moment of dark reflection, he said, "I’ll go visit the Morrels now. I find disgust even more sickening than hatred."