“Thanks, thanks,” said Monte Cristo, judging from the steward’s utter prostration that he could not stretch the cord further without danger of breaking it. “Give me a light.”

“Shall I accompany you, monsieur?”

“No, it is unnecessary; Bertuccio will show me a light.”

And Monte Cristo accompanied these words by the gift of two gold pieces, which produced a torrent of thanks and blessings from the concierge.

“Ah, monsieur,” said he, after having vainly searched on the mantelpiece and the shelves, “I have not got any candles.”

“Take one of the carriage-lamps, Bertuccio,” said the count, “and show me the apartments.”