The Count of Monte Cristo

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is a little island I have often heard spoken of by the old sailors my
father employed--a grain of sand in the centre of the Mediterranean, an
atom in the infinite."

"Precisely!" cried Albert. "Well, he of whom I speak is the lord and
master of this grain of sand, of this atom; he has purchased the title
of count somewhere in Tuscany."

"He is rich, then?"

"I believe so."

"But that ought to be visible."

"That is what deceives you, Debray."

"I do not understand you."