“So, then,” said he, “the letter was true to the end?”

“Did you doubt it, my dear Monsieur Bartolomeo?”

“No, indeed; certainly not; a good man, a man holding religious office, as does the Abbé Busoni, could not condescend to deceive or play off a joke; but your excellency has not read all.”

“Ah, true,” said Monte Cristo, “there is a postscript.”

“Yes, yes,” repeated the major, “yes⁠—there⁠—is⁠—a⁠—postscript.”

“ ‘In order to save Major Cavalcanti the trouble of drawing on his banker, I send him a draft for 2,000 francs to defray his travelling expenses, and credit on you for the further sum of 48,000 francs, which you still owe me.’ ”

The major awaited the conclusion of the postscript, apparently with great anxiety.

“Very good,” said the count.