Chapter 160: Chapter 160

From the street, the house at Auteuil looked completely ordinary, nothing that showed wealth or power. But that was exactly how the Count of Monte Cristo wanted it. He’d specifically ordered his steward to leave the exterior untouched, keeping up the facade of simplicity.

Step inside, though, and it was a completely different story. Thɪs chapter is updated by novel⟡fire.net

The moment the front door swung open, you entered another world entirely. Bertuccio, the count’s steward, had absolutely outdone himself. The speed and quality of the transformation was almost supernatural. There was a legend about a duke who’d once replanted an entire avenue of trees overnight to please a king. Well, Bertuccio had done something just as impressive in only three days.

Where there had been a bare, lifeless courtyard, now stood towering poplar trees and massive sycamores providing shade across the property. The old cracked pavement had been completely replaced with a pristine lawn, so freshly laid that morning dew still glistened on the grass. Every single detail had been executed according to the count’s precise instructions. He’d personally drawn up the plans, marking exactly where each tree should go and how large the lawn should be.

The transformation was so complete that even Bertuccio himself barely recognized the place. The framework of trees made it look like an entirely different property. He’d wanted to do more work on the garden too, but the count had been firm, don’t touch it. So Bertuccio had compensated by going absolutely wild with flowers everywhere else: the entrance halls, the staircases, the mantlepieces, all overflowing with beautiful arrangements.

But the real genius, what truly showed both Bertuccio’s skill and the count’s meticulous planning, was how they’d brought the house itself back to life.

Just the night before, this place had felt dead. It had that musty, abandoned smell that old buildings get, like time itself had settled into the walls. Now, in a single day, everything had changed. The house practically hummed with energy. The count’s favorite scents filled every room. The lighting had been adjusted to his exact preferences. When he arrived, his books and weapons were right where he wanted them. His favorite paintings hung on the walls. His dogs greeted him at the door, tails wagging. Birds sang from their cages, their music echoing through the halls.

It was like the house had been under a sleeping curse and suddenly woke up, alive, vibrant and blooming. The kind of place that becomes a part of you, so that leaving it feels like tearing off a piece of your soul.

The servants moved through the elegant courtyard with confidence, as if they’d worked there for years. The kitchen staff glided up and down the stairs, which had only been restored yesterday, like they’d been doing it forever. In the carriage houses, the vehicles sat polished and numbered, looking like they’d been maintained there for half a century. In the stables, the horses whinnied back at the grooms, who spoke to them with more respect than many servants showed their actual employers.

The library took up two sections of the house, positioned on either side of a wall, containing over two thousand books. One entire section was dedicated solely to novels, including books that had literally been published just the day before, already sitting on the shelves in their dignified red and gold bindings.

On the opposite side of the house sat the conservatory, a mirror to the library. Rare flowers bloomed in expensive china pots, and right in the middle of this greenhouse paradise, somehow both beautiful to look at and heavenly to smell, stood a billiard table. It looked like someone had just been playing an hour ago and simply walked away mid-game, leaving the balls scattered across the green cloth.

But there was one room that even the magnificent Bertuccio had left completely alone.

This particular chamber could be accessed by the grand staircase going up, or the back staircase going down. Servants would pass by it with curious glances. Bertuccio himself approached it with absolute terror.

At exactly five o’clock, the count arrived at the Auteuil house, followed by his servant Ali.

Bertuccio had been waiting with a mixture of eagerness and anxiety. He desperately hoped for compliments but simultaneously feared criticism. Monte Cristo stepped into the courtyard and walked through the entire house without showing any sign of approval or pleasure, until he reached his bedroom, located on the opposite side from that sealed room.

There, he approached a small piece of rosewood furniture he’d noticed on a previous visit.

"This must be for holding gloves," he said.

"Would you like to open it, your excellency?" Bertuccio asked, barely containing his delight. "You’ll find gloves inside."

Throughout the house, the count discovered everything he needed, cologne bottles, cigars, various accessories. All perfectly placed.

"Good," he said simply.

That single word sent Bertuccio away absolutely thrilled. That was the kind of power this man had, his approval, even just one word of it, could make people feel like they’d conquered the world.

At precisely six o’clock, the sound of horse hooves clattered at the entrance. It was Morrel, a captain in the cavalry, arriving on his horse Médéah.

"I know I’m first!" Morrel called out. "I did it on purpose, wanted a minute alone with you before everyone else shows up. Julie and Emmanuel have so much to tell you! This place is absolutely magnificent, by the way! But hey, will your people take care of my horse?"

"Don’t worry, Maximilian. They know what they’re doing," Monte Cristo replied.

"I’m serious, he needs special attention. You should’ve seen how fast we came! Like the wind!"

"I’d expect nothing less from a horse that cost five thousand francs," Monte Cristo said with the tone of an indulgent father.

"Do you regret spending that much?" Morrel asked with a genuine laugh.

"Me? Not at all," the count replied. "I’d only regret it if the horse turned out to be mediocre."

"Mediocre? I left Château-Renaud in the dust, and he’s one of the best riders in the country! Not to mention Debray, and they were both riding the minister’s Arabian horses! And right behind them are Madame Danglars’ horses, which usually go at top speed."

"So they’re following you?" Monte Cristo asked.

"See for yourself, here they come."

Right on cue, a carriage pulled by sweating horses arrived at the gate, accompanied by two riders. The gate swung open for them. The carriage circled around and stopped at the steps, with the horsemen following close behind.

The instant Debray dismounted, he rushed to the carriage door. He offered his hand to the baroness, who took it with a particular gesture that only Monte Cristo seemed to notice. But nothing escaped the count’s attention, he observed a small note being passed from Madame Danglars to the minister’s secretary with the smooth ease of frequent practice.

After his wife descended, the banker stepped down, looking pale as death itself.

Madame Danglars cast a quick, searching glance around the courtyard, across the columns, and along the front of the house. Then, suppressing whatever emotion had threatened to show on her face, she climbed the steps. She turned to Morrel: "Sir, if we were friends, I’d ask if you’d consider selling your horse."

Morrel’s smile looked more like a grimace. He glanced at Monte Cristo, silently begging for help.

The count understood immediately. "Ah, madame, why didn’t you ask me instead?"

"With you, sir," the baroness replied, "there’s no point in wishing for anything, you’re so quick to grant requests. If only the same were true of Mr. Morrel-"

"Unfortunately," the count interrupted, "I witnessed Mr. Morrel make a commitment regarding this horse. His honor is at stake."

"He made a bet that he could tame Médéah within six months. You understand, if he got rid of the animal before that time, he wouldn’t just lose the bet. People would say he was scared. And a brave cavalry captain can’t risk that reputation, not even to please a beautiful woman, which, in my opinion, is one of the most sacred obligations in the world."

"You see my situation, madame," Morrel said, throwing Monte Cristo a grateful smile.

"It seems to me," Danglars cut in with his characteristically crude tone, barely masked by a forced smile, "that you already have plenty of horses."