The Count of Monte Cristo + The Three Musketeers + The Man in the Iron Mask (3 Unabridged Classics). Alexandre Dumas

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      “Your excellency lodges at Pastrini’s hotel?”

      “I do.”

      “Your excellency is the travelling companion of the viscount?”

      “I am.”

      “Your excellency’s name” —

      “Is the Baron Franz d’Epinay.”

      “Then it is to your excellency that this letter is addressed.”

      “Is there any answer?” inquired Franz, taking the letter from him.

      “Yes — your friend at least hopes so.”

      “Come upstairs with me, and I will give it to you.”

      “I prefer waiting here,” said the messenger, with a smile.

      “And why?”

      “Your excellency will know when you have read the letter.”

      “Shall I find you here, then?”

      “Certainly.”

      Franz entered the hotel. On the staircase he met Signor Pastrini. “Well?” said the landlord.

      “Well — what?” responded Franz.

      “You have seen the man who desired to speak with you from your friend?” he asked of Franz.

      “Yes, I have seen him,” he replied, “and he has handed this letter to me. Light the candles in my apartment, if you please.” The innkeeper gave orders to a servant to go before Franz with a light. The young man had found Signor Pastrini looking very much alarmed, and this had only made him the more anxious to read Albert’s letter; and so he went instantly towards the waxlight, and unfolded it. It was written and signed by Albert. Franz read it twice before he could comprehend what it contained. It was thus worded: —My Dear Fellow, — The moment you have received this, have the kindness to take the letter of credit from my pocketbook, which you will find in the square drawer of the secretary; add your own to it, if it be not sufficient. Run to Torlonia, draw from him instantly four thousand piastres, and give them to the bearer. It is urgent that I should have this money without delay. I do not say more, relying on you as you may rely on me. Your friend, Albert de Morcerf.

      P.S. — I now believe in Italian banditti.

      Below these lines were written, in a strange hand, the following in Italian: —Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mile piastre non sono nelle mie mani, alla sette il conte Alberto avra cessato di vivere.

      Luigi Vampa.

      “If by six in the morning the four thousand piastres are not in my hands, by seven o’clock the Count Albert will have ceased to live.”

      This second signature explained everything to Franz, who now understood the objection of the messenger to coming up into the apartment; the street was safer for him. Albert, then, had fallen into the hands of the famous bandit chief, in whose existence he had for so long a time refused to believe. There was no time to lose. He hastened to open the secretary, and found the pocketbook in the drawer, and in it the letter of credit. There were in all six thousand piastres, but of these six thousand Albert had already expended three thousand. As to Franz, he had no letter of credit, as he lived at Florence, and had only come to Rome to pass seven or eight days; he had brought but a hundred louis, and of these he had not more than fifty left. Thus seven or eight hundred piastres were wanting to them both to make up the sum that Albert required. True, he might in such a case rely on the kindness of Signor Torlonia. He was, therefore, about to return to the Palazzo Bracciano without loss of time, when suddenly a luminous idea crossed his mind. He remembered the Count of Monte Cristo. Franz was about to ring for Signor Pastrini, when that worthy presented himself. “My dear sir,” he said, hastily, “do you know if the count is within?”

      “Yes, your excellency; he has this moment returned.”

      “Is he in bed?”

      “I should say no.”

      “Then ring at his door, if you please, and request him to be so kind as to give me an audience.” Signor Pastrini did as he was desired, and returning five minutes after, he said, — “The count awaits your excellency.” Franz went along the corridor, and a servant introduced him to the count. He was in a small room which Franz had not yet seen, and which was surrounded with divans. The count came towards him. “Well, what good wind blows you hither at this hour?” said he; “have you come to sup with me? It would be very kind of you.”

      “No; I have come to speak to you of a very serious matter.”

      “A serious matter,” said the count, looking at Franz with the earnestness usual to him; “and what may it be?”

      “Are we alone?”

      “Yes,” replied the count, going to the door, and returning. Franz gave him Albert’s letter. “Read that,” he said. The count read it.

      “Well, well!” said he.

      “Did you see the postscript?”

      “I did, indeed.

      “`Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mile piastre non sono nelle mie mani, alla sette il conte Alberto avra cessato di vivere.

      “`Luigi Vampa.’”

      “What think you of that?” inquired Franz.

      “Have you the money he demands?”

      “Yes, all but eight hundred piastres.” The count went to his secretary, opened it, and pulling out a drawer filled with gold, said to Franz, — “I hope you will not offend me by applying to any one but myself.”

      “You see, on the contrary, I come to you first and instantly,” replied Franz.

      “And I thank you; have what you will; “and he made a sign to Franz to take what he pleased.

      “Is it absolutely necessary, then, to send the money to Luigi Vampa?” asked the young man, looking fixedly in his turn at the count.

      “Judge for yourself,” replied he. “The postscript is explicit.”

      “I think that if you would take the trouble of reflecting, you could find a way of simplifying the negotiation,” said Franz.

      “How so?” returned the count, with surprise.

      “If we were to go together to Luigi Vampa, I am sure he would not refuse you Albert’s freedom.”

      “What influence can I possibly have over a bandit?”

      “Have you not just rendered him a service that can never be forgotten?”

      “What is that?”

      “Have you not saved Peppino’s life?”

      “Well, well,” said the count, “who told you that?”

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