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THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO
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"He is in the small salon, excellency," returned Bertuccio.

"And the cards I ordered to be engraved as soon as you knew the number of the house?"

"M. le Comte, it is done already. I have been myself to the best engraver of the Palais Royal, who did the plate in my presence. The first card struck off was taken, according to your orders, to M. le Baron Danglars, Rue de la Chaussee d'Antiu, No. 7; the others are on the mantel-piece of you excellency's bedroom."

"Good; what o'clock is it?"

"Four o'clock."

Monte-Cristo gave his hat, cane, and gloves to the same French footman who had called his carriage at the Count de Morcerf's, and then he passed into the small salon, preceded by Bertuccio, who showed him the way.

"These are but indifferent marbles in this antechamber," said Monte-Cristo. "I trust all this will soon be taken away."

Bertuccio bowed. As the steward had said, the notary awaited him in the small salon. He was a simple-looking lawyer's clerk, elevated to the extraordinary dignity of a provincial scrivener.

"You are the notary empowered to sell the country-house that I wish to purchase, monsieur?" asked Monte-Cristo.

"Yes, M. le Comte," returned the notary.

"Is the deed of sale ready?"

"Yes, M. le Comte."

"Have you brought it?"

"Here it is."

"Very well; and where is this house that I purchase?" asked the count, carelessly, addressing himself half to Bertuccio, half to the notary. The steward made a gesture that signified, "I do not know." The notaiy looked at the count with astonishment.

"What!" said he, "does not M. le Comte know where the house he purchases is situated?"

"No," returned the count.

"M. le Comte does not know it?"

"How should I know it? I have arrived from Cadiz this morning. I have never before been at Paris; and it is the first time I have ever even set my foot in France."

"Ah! that is different; the house you purchased is situate at Auteuil."

At these words Bertuccio turned pale.

"And where is Auteuil?" asked the count.

"Close here, monsieur," replied the notary,—"a little beyond Passy; a charming situation, in the heart of the Bois de Boulogne."