"If what you say be true," replied the count, smiling, "perhaps you will be kind enough to give me some account of yourself and your family?"
"Certainly, I will do so," said the young man, with a quickness which gave proof of his good memory. "I am, as you have said, the Vicomte Andrea Cavalcanti, son of Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti, a descendant of the Cavalcanti, whose names are inscribed in the golden book at Florence. Our family, although still rich (for my father's income amounts to half a million), has experienced many misfortunes, and I myself was, at the age of five years, taken away by the treachery of my tutor, so that for fifteen years I have not seen the author of my existence. Since I have arrived at years of discretion and become my own master, I have been constantly seeking him, but all in vain. At length I received this letter from your friend Sindbad, which states that my father is in Paris, and authorizes me to address myself to you for information respecting him."
"Really, all you have related to me is exceedingly interesting," said Monte-Cristo, observing with a gloomy satisfaction this youth, beautiful as a fallen angel, "and you have done well to conform in everything to the wishes of my friend Sindbad; for your father is indeed here, and is seeking you."
The count, from the moment of his first entering the drawing-room, had not once lost sight of the expression of the young man's countenance; he had admired the assurance of his look and the firmness of his voice; but at these words so natural in themselves, "Your father is indeed here, and is seeking you," young Andrea started, and exclaimed:
"My father! is my father here?"
"Most undoubtedly," replied Monte-Cristo; "your father, the Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti." The expression of terror which for the moment had overspread the features of the young man had now disappeared.
"Ah! yes, that is the name, certainly. Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti. And you really mean to say, M. le Comte, that my dear father is here!"
"Yes, sir; and I can even add that I have only just left his company. The history which he related to me of his lost son touched me to the quick; indeed, his griefs, hopes, and fears, on that subject might furnish material for a most touching and pathetic poem. At length, he one day received a letter, stating that the parties who had deprived him of his son now offered to restore him, or at least to give notice where he might be found, on condition of receiving a large sum of money, by way of ransom. Your father did not hesitate an instant, and the sum was sent to the frontier of Piedmont, with a passport signed for Italy. You were in the south of France, I think?"
