"Yes," the major said finally. "I did wish to keep this error hidden from everyone."
"Surely not for your own sake?" Monte Cristo replied. "A man is above that sort of thing, after all."
"Oh no, certainly not for my own sake," the major said with a smile and a shake of his head.
"But for the sake of the mother?" the count suggested.
"Yes, for the mother’s sake, his poor mother!" the major cried, taking a third biscuit.
"Have some more wine, my dear Cavalcanti," the count said, pouring him a second glass. "Your emotions have quite overcome you."
"His poor mother," the major murmured, trying unsuccessfully to produce an actual tear.
"She belonged to one of the finest families in Italy, I believe?"
"She was from a noble family in Fiesole, count."
"And her name was..."
"Do you need to know her name?"
"Oh," Monte Cristo said, "it would be quite unnecessary for you to tell me. I already know it."
"The count knows everything," the Italian said, bowing.
"Oliva Corsinari, wasn’t it?"
"And you married her eventually, despite her family’s opposition?"
"Yes, that’s how it ended."
"And you’ve brought all your documents with you, of course?" Monte Cristo asked.
"The certificate of your marriage to Oliva Corsinari, and your child’s birth certificate."
"My child’s birth certificate?"
"The birth certificate of Andrea Cavalcanti, your son. His name is Andrea, isn’t it?"
"I believe so," the major said.
"What? You believe so?"
"I can’t say for certain, since he’s been lost for so long."
"Well then," Monte Cristo said, "you have all the documents with you?"
"Your excellency, I regret to say that I didn’t know it was necessary to bring these papers, so I neglected to pack them."
"That is unfortunate," Monte Cristo said.
"Were they really that necessary?"
"They were absolutely essential."
The major rubbed his forehead. "Ah, damn, essential, were they?"
"Certainly. Suppose someone raised doubts about the validity of your marriage or the legitimacy of your child?"
"True," the major admitted. "There could be doubts."
"In that case, your son would be in a very unpleasant situation."
"It would be disastrous for his future."
"It could prevent him from making a good marriage."
"You must understand that in France, people are very particular about these matters. It’s not like in Italy, where you can just go to a priest and say, ’We love each other and want you to marry us.’ Marriage is a legal matter in France. To marry properly, you must have papers that undeniably establish your identity."
"That’s the problem! I don’t have these necessary papers."
"Fortunately, I have them," Monte Cristo said.
"Really?" the major said. Having feared his lack of documents would derail both his mission and the forty-eight thousand francs, he was relieved. "That’s very fortunate! Yes, that’s really lucky, because it never occurred to me to bring them."
"I’m not surprised, no one can think of everything. But fortunately, Father Busoni thought ahead for you."
"He’s an excellent person."
"He’s extremely careful and thoughtful."
"He’s an admirable man," the major agreed. "And he sent them to you?"
The major clasped his hands in amazement.
"You married Oliva Corsinari in the church of San Paolo del Monte-Cattini. Here’s the priest’s certificate."
"Yes, there it is!" the Italian said, staring in astonishment.
"And here’s Andrea Cavalcanti’s baptismal certificate, issued by the priest of Saravezza."
"Take these documents. They don’t concern me. You’ll give them to your son, who will naturally take excellent care of them."
"I should think so! If he were to lose them-"
"Well, what if he did lose them?" Monte Cristo asked.
"In that case," the major replied, "we’d have to write to the priest for duplicates, and that would take some time."
"It would be difficult to arrange," Monte Cristo agreed.
"Almost impossible," the major confirmed.
"I’m glad you understand the value of these papers."
"I consider them priceless."
"Now," Monte Cristo said, "regarding the young man’s mother-"
"Regarding the young man’s mother?" the Italian repeated anxiously.
"Regarding the Marchioness Corsinari-"
"Really," the major said, "the difficulties seem to be piling up. Will she be needed for anything?"
"No, sir," Monte Cristo replied. "Besides, hasn’t she-"
"Yes, sir," the major said. "She has..."
"Alas, yes," the Italian confirmed.
"I knew that," Monte Cristo said. "She’s been dead for ten years."
"And I still mourn her loss," the major exclaimed, pulling out a checkered handkerchief and alternately wiping his left eye and then his right.
"What can you do?" Monte Cristo said philosophically. "We’re all mortal. Now, my dear Mr. Cavalcanti, you must understand that it would be pointless to tell people in France that you’ve been separated from your son for fifteen years. Stories about criminals who steal children aren’t popular here and wouldn’t be believed. Instead, the story is this: you sent him to a boarding school in the provinces for his education, and now you want him to complete his education in Parisian society. That’s the reason you left your hometown, where you’ve lived since your wife’s death. That explanation will be sufficient."
"If anyone asks about the separation-"
"Ah yes, what should I say?"
"That a corrupt tutor, bribed by your family’s enemies."
"The Corsinari family?"
"Exactly. This tutor kidnapped the child so that your family line would die out."
"That makes sense, since he’s an only son."
"Good. Now that everything is arranged, don’t let these newly refreshed memories slip away. You’ve probably already guessed that I was preparing a surprise for you?" Content orıginally comes from NoveI-Fire.ɴet
"A pleasant one?" the Italian asked.
"Ah, I see a father’s instinct can’t be fooled any more than his heart can."
"Hmm," the major said.
"Someone told you the secret, or perhaps you guessed that he was here."
"Your child, your son, your Andrea!"
"I did guess it," the major replied with remarkable coolness.
"He is," Monte Cristo said. "When the butler came in earlier, he told me about his arrival."
"Ah, very well, very well," the major said, fidgeting with the buttons on his coat.
"My dear sir," Monte Cristo said, "I understand your emotion. You need time to compose yourself. Meanwhile, I’ll go prepare the young man for this long-awaited meeting. I assume he’s just as eager for it as you are."
"I imagine so," Cavalcanti agreed.
"Well, in fifteen minutes he’ll be with you."
"You’ll bring him yourself? You’re kind enough to introduce him to me personally?"
"No, I don’t want to intrude on a father and son’s reunion. Your meeting will be private. But don’t worry, even if natural instinct fails you, you can’t mistake him. He’ll enter through this door. He’s a handsome young man with a fair complexion, perhaps a bit too fair, and pleasing manners. But you’ll see and judge for yourself."
"By the way," the major said, "you know I only have the two thousand francs Father Busoni sent me, and I’ve already spent that on travel expenses, so-"
"And you need money. That’s perfectly natural, my dear Mr. Cavalcanti. Here are eight thousand francs as an advance."
The major’s eyes sparkled brilliantly.
"That makes forty thousand I still owe you," Monte Cristo said.
"Does your excellency need a receipt?" the major asked while smoothly slipping the money into his inside coat pocket.
"For what?" the count asked.
"I thought you might want it to show Father Busoni."
"Well, when you receive the remaining forty thousand, you can give me a receipt for the full amount. Between honest men, such excessive precautions are unnecessary, don’t you think?"
"Yes, between truly honest people, absolutely."
"One more thing," Monte Cristo said.
"May I make a suggestion?"
"Of course, please do."
"I’d advise you to stop wearing that style of clothing."
"Really?" the major said, examining himself with complete satisfaction.
"Yes. It might be fine in your hometown, but that outfit, however elegant in itself, has been out of fashion in Paris for years."
"That’s unfortunate."
"Oh, if you’re really attached to your old wardrobe, you can always go back to it when you leave Paris."
"But what should I wear?"
"What’s in your luggage."
"My luggage? I only have one suitcase with me."
"I’m sure that’s all you brought. Why burden yourself with too many things? Besides, an old soldier always prefers to travel light."
"That’s exactly right, precisely so."
"But you’re a man of foresight and caution, so you sent your main luggage ahead. It’s already arrived at the Hotel des Princes on Rue de Richelieu. That’s where you’ll be staying."
"So in that luggage-"
"I assume you ordered your valet to pack everything you’d need, your regular clothes and your military uniform. You must wear your uniform on formal occasions. That will make an excellent impression. Don’t forget your medals and decorations. People here still laugh at them sometimes, but everyone wears them anyway."
"Very well, very well," the major said, ecstatic at the count’s attention to every detail.
"Now," Monte Cristo said, "since you’ve fortified yourself against any emotional shock, prepare yourself, my dear Mr. Cavalcanti, to meet your lost Andrea."
With that, Monte Cristo bowed and disappeared behind the tapestry, leaving the major utterly fascinated by the delightful reception he’d received from the count.