The Count of Monte Cristo stepped into the drawing room, where his butler Baptistin had shown in their guest. A young man lounged on the sofa. Tall, with light hair and a red beard, dressed impeccably. He was tapping his expensive cane against his boot, the picture of casual arrogance. When he noticed the Count enter, he quickly stood.
"The Count of Monte Cristo, I presume?" the young man asked.
"Indeed. And you must be Count Andrea Cavalcanti?"
"Count Andrea Cavalcanti," the young man repeated with a slight bow, as if testing how the title sounded on his lips.
"You have a letter of introduction for me, correct?" the Count asked.
"I didn’t want to mention it at first, the signature seemed rather odd."
"Signed by ’Sinbad the Sailor,’ wasn’t it?"
"Exactly! Now, I’ve never known any Sinbad except the one from the fairy tales-"
"Well, this is one of his descendants," the Count interrupted smoothly. "A close friend of mine. He’s an extremely wealthy Englishman, eccentric to the point of madness. His real name is Lord Wilmore."
"Ah! That explains the strangeness," Andrea said quickly. "So he’s the same Englishman I met, well, yes, of course. I’m at your service, sir."
"If what you’re saying is true," the Count replied with a slight smile, "perhaps you could tell me about yourself and your family?"
"Certainly," Andrea said, the words flowing out with practiced ease. "I am, as you said, Count Andrea Cavalcanti, son of Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti. Our family descends from the noble Cavalcantis whose names are recorded in the ancient registry of the most prestigious families. Though we’re still wealthy, my father’s income is half a million, we’ve suffered many misfortunes. When I was only five years old, I was kidnapped by my tutor. For fifteen years, I never saw my father. Once I came of age and gained control of my own life, I searched for him constantly, but found nothing. Then I received your friend’s letter, saying my father was in Paris and that you could help me find him."
"Fascinating," Monte Cristo said, watching the young man’s face with dark satisfaction. "You’ve done well to follow my friend Sinbad’s instructions. Your father is indeed here, and he’s looking for you."
From the moment Andrea had entered, the Count hadn’t taken his eyes off the young man’s expressions. He’d noted the confidence in his gaze, the steadiness of his voice. But at these simple words, "Your father is here, and he’s looking for you," Andrea’s composure cracked.
"My father? Here?" he stammered.
"Without a doubt," Monte Cristo confirmed. "Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti."
Terror flashed across Andrea’s features for just a moment before vanishing. "Ah yes, that’s the name. Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti. And you’re truly saying my dear father is here?"
"Yes, and I just left his company. The story he told me about his lost son moved me deeply. His grief, his hopes, his fears, they could inspire the most heartbreaking tale. Eventually, he received a letter from your kidnappers, offering to return you in exchange for a large ransom. Your father didn’t hesitate. He sent the money to the border region, along with travel papers. You were in the south of France, correct?"
"Yes," Andrea said, looking uncomfortable. "The south of France."
"A carriage was waiting for you at Nice?"
"Precisely. It took me from Nice to Genoa, Genoa to Turin, Turin to Chambéry, and finally to Paris."
"Interesting! Your father took the exact same route. That’s how we traced your journey here."
"If my father had encountered me on the road," Andrea said carefully, "I doubt he would have recognized me. I must have changed significantly since he last saw me."
"Ah, but a father’s instinct," Monte Cristo said knowingly.
"True, I hadn’t considered that perspective."
"Now," the Count continued, "there’s one concern troubling your father’s mind. He’s anxious to know how you’ve spent these years away from him. How your captors treated you. Whether they showed you the respect your noble birth deserves. Most importantly, he worries whether you’ve managed to resist the corrupting influences you’ve been exposed to, influences far more dangerous than any physical hardship. He wonders if your natural talents have been neglected, and whether you’re capable of reclaiming the high social position your rank entitles you to."
"Sir!" Andrea exclaimed, clearly caught off guard. "I hope there haven’t been any false reports-"
"I first heard of you from my friend Wilmore, the philanthropist. I believe he found you in some difficult circumstances, though I didn’t ask for details, I’m not one to pry. Your troubles caught his sympathy, which means you must have made quite an impression. He wanted to restore you to your rightful position. He promised to find your father, and apparently he succeeded, since your father is here now. My friend informed me of your arrival and gave me instructions regarding your future prospects. Lord Wilmore is certainly peculiar, but he’s sincere and incredibly wealthy, so he can afford his eccentricities without risk of ruin. I’ve promised to follow his guidance. Now, please don’t take offense at my question, it’s part of my duty as your sponsor. I need to know whether these misfortunes, which were entirely beyond your control and don’t diminish my regard for you, I need to know if they’ve left you unprepared for the high society your wealth and name should grant you access to."
"Sir," the young man replied, recovering his confidence, "put your mind at ease. Those who took me from my father always intended to eventually sell me back, as they’ve now done. They calculated that to maximize their profit, they should preserve my education and refinement, even enhance it if possible. I’ve received an excellent education. My kidnappers treated me much like the slaves in ancient times whose masters educated them extensively so they’d fetch higher prices at market."
Monte Cristo smiled with satisfaction. The answer exceeded his expectations from Andrea Cavalcanti.
"Besides," Andrea continued, "if there are any gaps in my education or etiquette, I assume they’ll be forgiven considering the unusual circumstances of my upbringing."
"Well," Monte Cristo said in an indifferent tone, "you may do as you wish, Count, you’re in control of your own choices. But if I were you, I wouldn’t share a word of these adventures with anyone. Your story reads like fiction, and while the world loves published novels, it deeply distrusts similar stories from real life, no matter how compelling. This is the difficulty I wanted to highlight. The moment you tell your dramatic history, it will spread everywhere and be dismissed as implausible. You won’t be seen as a lost child miraculously found, you’ll be viewed as an impostor who appeared overnight like a mushroom. You might attract curiosity, but not everyone enjoys being the center of gossip and criticism."
"I agree completely," Andrea said, his face going pale. Despite himself, he trembled under the Count’s piercing gaze. "Such consequences would be most unpleasant."
"However, don’t exaggerate the problem," Monte Cristo said. "In trying to avoid one mistake, you’ll make another. You need a simple, consistent approach. For someone of your intelligence, this should be easy enough. You must form respectable friendships to counteract any prejudice about your mysterious past."
Andrea’s expression shifted noticeably.
"I would offer myself as your sponsor and adviser," the Count continued, "except I have a moral distrust of even my closest friends, and I tend to make others doubt them too. Therefore, taking on this role would be completely out of character for me, and I’d risk failure, as actors say, being hissed off stage for playing the wrong part."
"However, your excellency," Andrea protested, "considering Lord Wilmore recommended me to you-"
"Yes, certainly," Monte Cristo interrupted. "But Lord Wilmore made sure to inform me that your youth was rather turbulent. Ah," the Count said, watching Andrea’s face closely, "I’m not asking for confessions. That’s precisely why your father was summoned. You’ll meet him soon. He’s a bit stiff and formal, somewhat disfigured by his military uniform, but once people learn he’s served in the military for eighteen years, all will be forgiven. We’re generally quite lenient with military men. In short, you’ll find your father quite presentable, I assure you."
"Sir, you’ve given me such confidence! It’s been so long since we separated that I have almost no memory of him. And besides, as you know, in society’s eyes, a large fortune excuses all flaws."
"He’s a millionaire, his annual income is five hundred thousand."
"Then," the young man said anxiously, "I’ll certainly be in a comfortable position?"
"One of the most comfortable possible. He’ll provide you an allowance of fifty thousand per year while you stay in Paris."
"Then I’ll definitely choose to remain here permanently."
"You can’t always control circumstances. As they say, man proposes, but fate disposes."
"But," he said, "as long as I stay in Paris and nothing forces me to leave, do you mean I can rely on receiving that amount you mentioned?"
"Will I receive it from my father?" Andrea asked with some unease. Thɪs chapter is updated by Nov3lFɪre.ɴet
"Yes, directly from your father, though Lord Wilmore guarantees the funds. At your father’s request, he’s opened an account at Danglars Bank providing six thousand francs monthly, one of the safest banks in Paris."
"And my father plans to stay in Paris long?"
"Only a few days," Monte Cristo replied. "His military duties prevent him from being away more than two or three weeks."
"Ah, my dear father!" Andrea exclaimed, clearly delighted by news of his imminent departure.
"Therefore," the Count said, pretending to misunderstand, "I won’t delay the pleasure of your reunion another moment. Are you prepared to embrace your father?"
"I hope you don’t doubt it."
"Then go into the drawing room, where your father awaits you."