As he waited, the man examined the exterior of the house, what could be seen of the garden and the livery of a few servants who might be observed coming and going -- and did so with such close attention as to amount almost to impertinence. His eye was sharp, but with more cunning in it than wit or irony. His lips were so thin that they vanished inside the mouth instead of protruding from it. Finally, the breadth and prominence of the cheekbones (an infallible sign of shrewdness), the retreating forehead, the bulging occiput which extended well beyond his wide and not in the least aristocratic ears, all contributed to give this gentleman (whom any ordinary person would have thought very respectable in view of his magnificent horses, the enormous diamond he wore in his shirt and the red ribbon that stretched from one buttonhole to another on his coat), a face which to a trained physiognomist betrayed an almost repulsive character.

The next day at about two in the afternoon, a barouche drawn by two splendid horses pulled up in front of Monte Cristo's door and a man in a blue jacket, with silk buttons of the same colour, a white waistcoat crossed by a huge gold chain and hazel-coloured trousers, with a head of such black hair, worn so low above the eyebrows that it seemed hardly natural, being so inconsistent with those wrinkles on the forehead that it was unable to disguise; in short, a man of between fifty and fifty-five, trying to look forty, put his head out of the window of a coupé with a baron's crown painted on its door, and sent his groom to enquire of the concierge whether the Count of Monte Cristo was at home.

The groom hammered on the concierge's window and asked: "Does the Count of Monte Cristo live here?"

"His Excellency does live here," the concierge replied, "but…" And he looked at Ali, who nodded in reply.

"But His Excellency is not receiving guests," the concierge said.

"But?" asked the groom.

"Well?" said Danglars.

"In that case, here is the card of my master, Baron Danglars. You will give it to the Count of Monte Cristo and tell him that my master made a detour while on his way to the House, in order to have the honour of seeing him."

"I don't talk to His Excellency," said the concierge. "The valet de chambre will take the message."

The groom went back to the carriage.

The boy, somewhat crestfallen at the lesson he had just been given, delivered the concierge's reply to his master.

"Huh!" the latter remarked. "The gentleman is a prince, is he, calling himself Excellency and only allowing his valet de chambre to speak to him. No matter. Since he has a credit on me, he will have to see me when he wants money." And he slumped back into his carriage, shouting to the coachman in a voice that could be heard on the far side of the street: "To the Chambre des Députés!"

Informed of his arrival, Monte Cristo had seen the baron and been able to study him through the shutters of his house, thanks to a fine lorgnette, with as much attention as M. Danglars himself had given to the house, the garden and the servants.

"Yes, sir," said the count. "Did you see the horses that just drew up at my door?"

At the same moment, Bertuccio entered. "Your Excellency called for me?" he said.

"Undoubtedly," he said, with a gesture of disgust as he closed the binoculars in their ivory case, "undoubtedly that man is an unprepossessing creature. How can anyone fail at first sight to recognize in him the serpent with its flattened head, the vulture with its bulging skull and the buzzard with its rapacious beak? Ali!" he cried, then struck the copper gong. Ali appeared. "Call Bertuccio."

"How is it," Monte Cristo said quizzically, "when I asked you for the two finest horses in Paris, that there still remain in Paris two other horses equally as good which are not in my stables?"

"Indeed, Excellency. I might say they were very fine."

"Monsieur le Comte," said Bertuccio, "the horses that you refer to were not for sale."

Monte Cristo shrugged his shoulders. "Bertuccio, everything is always for sale when you know the price to put on it."

"It is not your fault, my dear Ali," the count said in Arabic, with a softness that one would never have thought to hear in that voice. "You are no expert when it comes to English horses."

At the sharp tone of voice and the raised eyebrow, Ali bent his head.

Ali's features resumed their accustomed serenity.

"Monsieur Danglars paid sixteen thousand francs for them, Monsieur le Comte."

Monte Cristo looked at his steward like a man astonished that anyone should dare to question his seriousness. "This evening," he said, "I have a visit to make. I wish to have those two horses draw my carriage, with a new harness."

Bertuccio retired, bowing. Reaching the door, he paused and said: "At what time does His Excellency intend to pay this visit?"

"Is Monsieur le Comte serious?" Bertuccio asked.

"Then you should have offered him thirty-two thousand. He is a banker, and a banker never misses an opportunity to double his money."

"Monsieur Baptistin," said the count, "you have been in my service for a year. This is the probationary period that I usually give to my servants. You suit me."

"At five o'clock."

Ali had hardly disappeared when the valet de chambre entered.

Baptistin bowed.

"I know," was Monte Cristo's only reply. Then, turning to Ali, he said: "Have all the horses paraded in front of Madame, so that she can choose the team that suits her best; and ask her to let me know if she will dine with me. In that case, we shall be served in her apartments. Now, go and as you do, send me the valet de chambre."

"Hear me out. You earn fifteen hundred francs a year, which is the stipend of a fine, brave army officer who risks his life every day. You enjoy meals that many a head clerk, a poor slave who is far busier than you, would envy. Though a servant, you yourself have servants who take care of your laundry and your belongings. Over and above your fifteen hundred francs in wages, you are taking a cut on the toiletries and similar purchases that you make for me, and stealing nearly an additional fifteen hundred francs every year."

"Oh! Monsieur le Comte!" Baptistin said unhesitatingly.

"I might venture to point out to Your Excellency that it is now two o'clock," the steward said, gingerly.

"It remains for you to say if I suit you."

Baptistin bowed and took three or four steps towards the door.

"Oh! Excellency!"

"By the way," the count continued, "I forgot to tell you that, every year, I invest a certain sum for each of my people. Those whom I dismiss inevitably lose this money, which reverts to those who remain and who will be able to collect it after my death. You have been a year with me, your fortune has begun to grow: let it continue."

"I am not complaining, Monsieur Baptistin, it's a reasonable amount. However, I wish it to stop forthwith. Nowhere will you find a position comparable to the one that good fortune has given you here. I never beat my servants, I never swear, I never lose my temper, I always forgive a fault, but never negligence or forgetfulness. My orders are usually brief, but clear and precise: I prefer to repeat them twice or even three times, rather than for them to be carried out incorrectly. I am rich enough to know everything that I wish to know and -- be warned -- I am very curious. So if I were ever to learn that you had spoken either good or ill of me, that you had commented on my actions or watched over what I do, you would leave my house immediately. I never give my servants more than one warning. You have had yours. You may go!"

"Oh! Do no such thing!" Monte Cristo said, as cold as marble. "Ali has many faults, as well as qualities. Don't follow his example, because Ali is an exception. He receives no wages, he is not a servant, he is my slave, he is my dog. If he were to fail in his duty, I should not dismiss him. I should kill him."

This homily, delivered in front of Ali who remained impassive, since he did not understand a word of French, produced an effect on M. Baptistin which will be understood by anyone who has studied the psychology of the French domestic servant. "I shall try to conform in every respect to Your Excellency's wishes," he said. "Indeed, I shall model myself on Monsieur Ali."

Baptistin's eyes bulged.

The count motioned to Baptistin to leave them, and Ali to come with him. He led the way into his cabinet and they spent a long time talking there.

"Do you doubt it?" And the count repeated the same words to Ali that he had spoken in French to Baptistin. Ali listened, smiled, went over to his master, knelt on one knee and respectfully kissed his hand. This little epitome of the lesson left Baptistin utterly dumbfounded.

"They are ready, with the carriage, Excellency," Bertuccio replied. "Shall I be accompanying Monsieur le Comte?"

At five o'clock the count knocked three times on the gong. One strike was for Ali, two for Baptistin and three for Bertuccio. The steward entered.

"My horses!" Monte Cristo demanded.

"No, just the coachman, Baptistin and Ali."

The count came downstairs and saw, harnessed to his carriage, the horses that he had admired that morning in Danglars' barouche. He glanced at them as he went past. "They are very fine, indeed," he said. "You did well to buy them, even though you were a little late."

"Excellency," said Bertuccio, "it took a great deal of trouble to get them and they were very expensive."

"Are they any the less attractive for that?" the count asked, shrugging his shoulders.

"If Your Excellency is content," Bertuccio said, "then all is well. Where is Your Excellency going?"

"To the rue de la Chaussée d'Antin, to Baron Danglars'."

This conversation took place at the top of the front steps. Bertuccio made as if to go down the first step.

"One moment, Monsieur," Monte Cristo said, holding him back. "I need an estate near the seaside, in Normandy for example, between Le Havre and Boulogne. As you see, I am giving you room to manoeuvre. The property must have a little harbour -- a small creek or bay, where my corvette can enter and moor. It has a draught of only fifteen feet. It will always be kept ready to put to sea, at any hour of the day or night when I choose to give the signal. You will enquire of all the notaries about a property of this kind and, when you have found one, you will visit it and, if you are satisfied, buy it in your name. The corvette must be sailing towards Fécamp, I suppose?"

"I saw it put to sea on the very evening when we left Marseille."

"What about the steamship?"

"The yacht was ordered to remain at Les Martigues."

"And the yacht?"

"The same orders as for the two sailing ships."

"Very well. From time to time you must keep in touch with their two captains, so that they do not fall asleep at their posts."

"Which is in Chalon?"

"Yes."

"Your Excellency can count on me."

"Very good."

"As soon as the property has been acquired, I shall have relays of horses ready every ten leagues on the roads to the north and to the south."

Danglars was chairing a commission, which had been appointed for a railway company, when they came in to announce the Count of Monte Cristo. In any case, the meeting was almost finished. At the mention of the count's name, he got up. "Gentlemen," he said, addressing his colleagues, several of whom were honourable members of one House or the other, "I apologize for leaving you in this way, but I must ask you to believe that the firm of Thomson and French, in Rome, has sent me a certain Count of Monte Cristo and opened a limitless credit for him with me. This is the most ludicrous joke any of my correspondents abroad has yet played on me. As you may well imagine, I was -- and still am -- consumed by curiosity. This morning, I went to visit the so-called count; if he was a real one, you will agree, he would not be so rich. Monsieur was not at home to me. What do you think? It seems our Monte Cristo has the manners of a princeling or a prima donna, doesn't it? Aside from that, the house on the Champs-Elysées, which he owns, I enquired about that, appeared respectable enough. But -- unlimited credit!" Danglars repeated, smiling one of his odious smiles. "That's something that makes the banker with whom such a credit is opened rather fussy about his man. So I was keen to see him. I think they are trying to lead me up the garden path, but he who laughs last…"

Monte Cristo gave a nod of satisfaction, went down the steps and leapt into his carriage, which was borne forward at a trot by the superb team of horses and did not stop until it reached the banker's mansion.

M. le Baron ended, stressing the last words with an expressive flourish that made his nostrils flare, then left his guests and went into a reception room, done up in white and gold, that had made the tongues wag on the Chaussée d'Antin. He had asked the visitor to be brought here, to impress him right from the start.

The count was standing, inspecting some copies of Albano and Fattore which had been passed off on the banker as originals and which, copies though they were, clashed with the beading in every shade of gold decorating the ceiling. On hearing Danglars come in, the count turned around.

"And I," the count replied, "to Monsieur le Baron Danglars, Knight of the Legion of Honour and member of the Chamber of Deputies?"

Danglars nodded in greeting and gestured to the count to sit down on an armchair of gilded wood upholstered in white satin and embroidered in gold thread. The count did so.

"I have the honour of speaking to Monsieur de Monte Cristo?"

The count was repeating all the titles to be found on the baron's visiting card. The baron took the hint and bit his lip. "Forgive me, Monsieur," he said, "for not addressing you at the start by the title under which you were introduced to me. But, as you know, we live under a government of the people and I am a representative of the interests of the people."

"With the result," Monte Cristo replied, "that, while retaining the custom of having yourself called 'Baron', you have abandoned that of calling other men 'Count'."

"But you abdicated your titles, as formerly Monsieur de Mont-morency and Monsieur de Lafayette did? You offer a fine example to your fellow men, Monsieur."

"Oh, I'm not even bothered about it for myself, Monsieur," Danglars replied casually. "They granted me the title and made me a Knight of the Legion of Honour for some services rendered, but…"

"Ah, so you call yourself 'monseigneur' for your staff, 'monsieur' for journalists and 'citizen' for your agents. These nuances are quite appropriate in a constitutional regime; I understand perfectly."

Danglars clenched his teeth. He could see that on this ground he was no rival for Monte Cristo, so he tried to return to terrain that was more familiar to him.

"Monsieur le Comte," he said, bowing, "I have received a letter from the firm of Thomson and French."

"Well, not altogether," Danglars replied, with some embarrassment. "You understand, for the servants…"

"I am delighted, Monsieur le Baron. Oh! Permit me to address you as your servants do: it's a bad habit I picked up in countries where they still have barons, precisely because they are not making them any more. As I say, I'm charmed. I have no need to present myself, which is always embarrassing. So, you have received a letter?"

"Yes," said Danglars, "but I have to admit that I did not entirely take its meaning."

"Really?"

"So, Monsieur le Baron, what needs explaining in that?"

"I even had the honour to visit you to ask for an explanation."

"Very well, Monsieur, I am here, ready and listening."

"Nothing, Monsieur. Only, the word 'unlimited'…"

"It is a French word, is it not? You must understand, the letter comes from an Anglo-German firm…"

"Oh, yes, Monsieur, indeed. There is no problem in respect of the syntax, but the same is not true of the arithmetic."

"I have the letter," Danglars said, "… on my person, I believe." He rummaged around in his pocket. "Yes, here we are. This letter opens an unlimited credit on my bank on behalf of the Count of Monte Cristo."

"In other words," Monte Cristo remarked, "you mean that while the firm of Thomson and French may be inclined to folly, that of Danglars is unwilling to follow its example."

"How do you mean, Monsieur le Comte?"

"Are you trying to tell me," Monte Cristo asked, with the most innocent air that he could manage, "that the firm of Thomson and French is not absolutely reliable, in your opinion, Monsieur le Baron? I should be most sorry to hear it, for I have some money invested with them."

"Oh, perfectly reliable," Danglars replied, with a smile almost of mockery. "But the meaning of the word 'unlimited', in financial terms, is so vague…"

"Just this: Messrs Thomson and French engage in unlimited business, but Monsieur Danglars does put a limit on his. As he was saying only a moment ago, he is a wise man."

"As to be unlimited, perhaps?" said Monte Cristo.

"Just so, Monsieur, that is precisely what I meant. Now, where something is vague, there is doubt and, as the wise man says, when in doubt -- don't!"

"Monsieur," the banker replied haughtily, "no one has yet found my funds to be wanting."

Danglars bit his lip: this was the second time that the man had worsted him, and this time on his own ground. His condescending politeness was only an affectation and he was getting close to an extremity very similar to condescension, which is impertinence.

"So, it seems that I shall be the first," Monte Cristo replied coldly.

"Who says that you will?"

"All these explanations you require of me, Monsieur, which seem to me very much like cold feet…"

"To come to the point, Monsieur," said Danglars, after a moment's silence. "I shall try to make myself plain by asking you yourself to state the amount that you intend to draw on us."

"But, my good sir," said Monte Cristo, determined not to lose an inch of ground in the debate, "if I asked for unlimited credit from you, that was precisely because I did not know what amount I should require."

Monte Cristo, on the other hand, was smiling with the best grace in the world. When he wished, he could adopt an air of innocence that was extremely favourable to him.

The banker felt that the moment had at last come to regain the upper hand. He sat back in his chair and, with a broad and supercilious smile, said: "Oh, Monsieur! Do not be afraid to ask. You will then be able to satisfy yourself that the funds of Danglars and company, limited though they may be, can meet the largest requirements. Even if you were to ask for a million…"

"I beg your pardon?" said Monte Cristo.

"I said, a million," Danglars repeated, with idiotic self-satisfaction.

"What use would a million be to me?" said the count. "Good heavens, Monsieur! If all I wanted was a million, I should not have bothered to open a credit for such a paltry sum. A million? But I always carry a million in my portfolio or my wallet." And, opening a little box where he kept his visiting cards, he took out two bonds for five hundred thousand francs each, drawn on the Treasury and payable to bearer.

"Come now," said Monte Cristo, "admit it! You have no faith in the firm of Thomson and French. Well, that's no problem. I anticipated it and, though I know little about business, I took the necessary precautions. Here are two other letters like the one addressed to you. The first comes from the firm of Arnstein and Eskeles, in Vienna, drawn on the Baron de Rothschild, the other from the house of Baring in London, drawn on Monsieur Laffitte. Just say the word, Monsieur, and I shall relieve you of any anxiety by going to one or other of those two firms."

A man like Danglars needed to be bludgeoned, rather than pricked. The blow had the desired effect: the banker reeled and felt faint. He looked at Monte Cristo with amazement, the pupils of his dazed eyes terrifyingly dilated.

"Name the sum, Monsieur le Comte. I am at your orders."

That was it: Danglars was defeated. With hands visibly trembling, he opened the letter from Vienna and the other from London, which the count was holding out to him, verified the signatures with a degree of attention that would have been insulting to Monte Cristo if he had not made allowance for the banker's bewilderment.

"Very well, then," Monte Cristo continued. "Now that we are agreed… we are agreed, aren't we?"

"Ah, Monsieur, here are three signatures that are worth many millions," Danglars said, rising to his feet, as though to salute the power of gold personified in the man seated before him. "Three unlimited credits on our three firms! Excuse me, Monsieur le Comte, but, while I am no longer suspicious, I may at least be allowed to feel astonishment."

"And you are no longer at all suspicious?"

"Oh, a firm like yours would not be astonished by such a thing," said Monte Cristo, with all the condescension he could muster. "So, you can send me some money, I assume?"

Danglars nodded.

"No, you simply wanted some proof, nothing more. Very well, now that we are agreed and you no longer have any suspicion, let us settle on a broad amount for the first year; say, six million?"

"Monsieur le Comte, please!" the banker exclaimed. "I was never suspicious!"

"The money will be with you tomorrow at ten in the morning, Monsieur le Comte," Danglars replied. "Would you like gold, banknotes or coin?"

"Half gold and half notes, if you please." He got up to leave.

"Six million! Very well then," said Danglars, choking.

"If I should need more," Monte Cristo continued, "we can increase the amount; but I am only expecting to stay a year in France, and during that year I do not think I shall exceed that amount… Well, we shall see… So, for a start, please have five hundred thousand francs sent round to me tomorrow. I shall be at home until midday and, in any case, if I were to go out, I should leave a receipt with my steward."

"One thing I must confess, Monsieur le Comte," Danglars said. "I thought that I was rather well acquainted with all the great fortunes in Europe; but I have to admit that yours, though it seems to be considerable, had entirely escaped my notice. Is it recent?"

"With your taste and your intentions, Monsieur," Danglars continued, "you will exhibit in Paris a degree of extravagance before which we shall pale into insignificance, we poor millionaires. However, as you strike me as a connoisseur -- I did notice you looking at my pictures when I entered -- I beg your permission to show you my collection. All guaranteed old masters. I do not like the modern school."

The count accompanied these last words with one of those faint smiles that so terrified Franz d"Epinay.

"No, Monsieur," Monte Cristo replied. "On the contrary, it dates back a long way. It is a sort of family treasure which was not allowed to be touched; the accumulated interest tripled the capital sum. The period allotted under the will only elapsed a few years ago, so I have only been drawing on the money for a short time and your ignorance in the matter is entirely natural. In any event, you will shortly be better informed."

"You are quite right, Monsieur. On the whole, they have one great shortcoming, which is that they have not yet had time to become old masters."

"But all that can come later, when we know one another better. For the time being, with your permission, of course, I shall be content to introduce you to Baroness Danglars. Forgive my eagerness, Count, but a client such as yourself is almost one of the family."

Danglars rang and a footman appeared, dressed in brightly shining livery.

"Who is with madame? Is it Monsieur Debray?" Danglars asked, with a good humour that made Monte Cristo smile to himself, informed as he already was about the financier's domestic secrets.

Monte Cristo bowed, indicating that he would accept the honour that the financier was offering to accord him.

"No, Baron," Monte Cristo said, smiling. "I do not allow myself that privilege."

"Is she alone?"

"Could I show you some statues by Thorwaldsen, Bartolini or Canova? All foreigners: I don't favour French artists."

"You have the right to be unjust towards them, Monsieur, since they are your fellow-countrymen."

"No, Madame has company."

"It would not be indiscreet of me to introduce you when someone else is present, Count? You are not travelling incognito?"

"Yes, Monsieur le Baron," the footman replied.

"Is the baroness at home?" Danglars asked.

"Madame la baronne is expecting Your Lordships," said the footman, coming back into the room.

"I do not have the honour of knowing Madame Danglars, but I have already met Monsieur Lucien Debray."

"And I shall follow you," said Monte Cristo.

"Huh!" Danglars exclaimed. "Where was that?"

"I shall lead the way," Danglars said with a bow.

"Yes, Baron, Monsieur Debray," the footman replied.

"We found ourselves in Rome at the same time, during the carnival."

"Oh, yes, indeed," said Danglars. "Did I not hear a rumour about something like a strange adventure with bandits and robbers in the ruins? He escaped by a miracle. I think he told my wife and daughter something about that when he returned from Italy."

"At Monsieur de Morcerf's."

"Oh, so you know the little viscount?" said Danglars.

Danglars nodded, then turned to Monte Cristo. "Monsieur Lucien Debray," he said, "is an old friend of the family and the private secretary to the Minister of the Interior. As for my wife, she had to give up a title when she married me, for she belongs to an old family. She is a Mademoiselle de Servières, the widow from her first marriage, to the Marquis de Nargonne."