on my valet de chambre, and he ought by this time to have bought the house and furnished it.”
“But you have, then, a valet de chambre who knows Paris?” said Beauchamp.
“It is the first time he has ever been in Paris. He is black, and cannot speak,” returned Monte Cristo.
“It is Ali!” cried Albert, in the midst of the general surprise.
“Yes, Ali himself, my Nubian mute, whom you saw, I think, at Rome.”
“Certainly,” said Morcerf; “I recollect him perfectly. But how could you charge a Nubian to purchase a house, and a mute to furnish it?—he will do everything wrong.”
“Undeceive yourself, monsieur,” replied Monte Cristo; “I am quite sure, that, on the contrary, he will choose everything as I wish. He knows my tastes, my caprices, my