The Count of Monte Cristo

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Persia's sun, or woven by the fingers of the women of Calcutta or of
Chandernagor. What these stuffs did there, it was impossible to say;
they awaited, while gratifying the eyes, a destination unknown to their
owner himself; in the meantime they filled the place with their golden
and silky reflections. In the centre of the room was a Roller and
Blanchet "baby grand" piano in rosewood, but holding the potentialities
of an orchestra in its narrow and sonorous cavity, and groaning beneath
the weight of the chefs-d'oeuvre of Beethoven, Weber, Mozart, Haydn,
Gretry, and Porpora. On the walls, over the doors, on the ceiling, were
swords, daggers, Malay creeses, maces, battle-axes; gilded, damasked,
and inlaid suits of armor; dried plants, minerals, and stuffed birds,
their flame-colored wings outspread in motionless flight, and their
beaks forever open. This was Albert's favorite lounging place.

However, the morning of the appointment, the young man had established
himself in the small salon down-stairs. There, on a table, surrounded at
some distance by a large and luxurious divan, every species of tobacco