The Count of Monte Cristo

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engraver of the Palais Royal, who did the plate in my presence. The
first card struck off was taken, according to your orders, to the Baron
Danglars, Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin, No. 7; the others are on the
mantle-piece of your excellency's bedroom."

"Good; what o'clock is it?"

"Four o'clock." Monte Cristo gave his hat, cane, and gloves to the same
French footman who had called his carriage at the Count of Morcerf's,
and then he passed into the small salon, preceded by Bertuccio,
who showed him the way. "These are but indifferent marbles in this
ante-chamber," said Monte Cristo. "I trust all this will soon be taken
away." Bertuccio bowed. As the steward had said, the notary awaited him
in the small salon. He was a simple-looking lawyer's clerk, elevated to
the extraordinary dignity of a provincial scrivener. "You are the notary
empowered to sell the country house that I wish to purchase, monsieur?"
asked Monte Cristo.