the count with his large staring eyes, and then took a survey of the apartment, but his gaze almost immediately reverted to the proprietor of the room.
“Yes, yes, I see. ‘Major Cavalcanti, a worthy patrician of Lucca, a descendant of the Cavalcanti of Florence,’ ” continued Monte Cristo, reading aloud, “ ‘possessing an income of half a million.’ ”
Monte Cristo raised his eyes from the paper, and bowed.
“Half a million,” said he, “magnificent!”
“Half a million, is it?” said the major.
“Yes, in so many words; and it must be so, for the abbé knows correctly the amount of all the largest fortunes in Europe.”
“Be it half a million, then; but on my word of honor, I had no idea that it was so much.”
“Because you are robbed by your steward. You must make some reformation in that quarter.”
“You have opened my eyes,” said the Italian gravely; “I will show the gentleman the door.”
Monte Cristo resumed the perusal of the letter:
“ ‘And who only needs one thing more to make him happy.’ ”
“Yes, indeed but one!” said the major with a sigh.
“ ‘Which is to recover