“Now, sir,” said Monte Cristo, addressing Andrea, “make your confession.”
“To whom?”
“Tell M. Cavalcanti something of the state of your finances.”
“Ma foi! monsieur, you have touched upon a tender chord.”
“Do you hear what he says, major?”
“Certainly I do.”
“But do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Your son says he requires money.”
“Well, what would you have me do?” said the major.
“You should furnish him with some of course,” replied Monte Cristo.
“I?”
“Yes, you,” said the count, at the same time advancing towards Andrea, and slipping a packet of banknotes into the young man’s hand.
“What is this?”
“It is from your father.”
“From my father?”
“Yes; did you not tell him just now that you wanted