The summons to the visitor’s room astonished Andrea almost as much as everyone else. The clever young man had stayed silent since arriving at La Force, rather than using his privilege to send for soone imdiately.
"Everything proves I’m under the protection of so powerful person," he’d reasoned. "This sudden fortune, the ease with which I’ve overco obstacles, an unexpected family and illustrious na given to , gold showered upon , the promise of brilliant marriages. One slip of fortune and my protector’s temporary absence have brought down, but not forever. The hand that withdrew will reach out again just when I think I’m sinking into the abyss. Why risk a rash move that might anger my protector? He has two ways to get out of this ss, either a mysterious escape through bribery, or buying off my judges with gold. I’ll say and do nothing until I’m convinced he’s truly abandoned , and then..."
Andrea’s plan was clever enough. The unfortunate young man was brave in attack and rough in defense. He’d endured the public prison and all kinds of deprivation. Still, gradually, nature, or rather habit, had won out, and he was suffering from being naked, dirty, and hungry.
It was at this mont of discomfort that the inspector’s voice summoned him to the visitor’s room. Andrea’s heart leaped with joy. Too early for the examining magistrate, too late for the prison director or doctor, it must be the visitor he’d been hoping for.
Behind the grating of the room where Andrea was led, he saw, eyes widening with surprise, the dark, intelligent face of Bertuccio, who was also gazing with sad astonishnt at the iron bars, bolted doors, and the shadow moving behind the opposite grating.
"Ah," Andrea said, deeply affected.
"Good morning, Benedetto," Bertuccio replied, his voice deep and hollow.
"You? You?" the young man said, glancing around fearfully.
"Don’t you recognize , unhappy child?"
"Silence! Be quiet!" Andrea hissed, knowing how well these walls carried sound. "For heaven’s sake, don’t speak so loud!"
"You want to speak with alone, don’t you?" Bertuccio asked.
"Oh yes."
"Good." Bertuccio reached into his pocket and signaled to a guard visible through the wicket window.
"What’s that?" Andrea asked.
"An order to take you to a private room where we can talk."
"Oh!" Andrea cried, leaping with joy. Then he thought, Still my unknown protector! I’m not forgotten. They want secrecy since we’re eting in a private room. I understand, Bertuccio has been sent by my protector.
The guard spoke briefly with an official, then opened the iron gates and led Andrea to a room on the first floor. The room was whitewashed as was typical in prisons, but it looked brilliant to a prisoner, though only a stove, bed, chair, and table comprised its "luxurious" furnishings.
Bertuccio sat on the chair. Andrea threw himself on the bed. The guard left.
"Now," the steward said, "what do you have to tell ?"
"What about you?" Andrea countered.
"You speak first."
"No, you must have much to tell since you ca looking for ."
"Fine, have it your way. You’ve continued your life of cri, you’ve robbed, you’ve murdered."
"Well, obviously! If you brought to a private room just to tell this, you could’ve saved yourself the trouble. I know all that. But there are things I don’t know. Let’s talk about those, if you please. Who sent you?"
"You’re getting ahead of yourself, Benedetto."
"Yes, and straight to the point. Let’s skip the useless words. Who sent you?"
"No one."
"How did you know I was in prison?"
"I recognized you so ti ago as the insolent dandy who so gracefully mounted his horse in the Champs-Élysées."
"The Champs-Élysées? Ah yes, we’re getting warr, as they say. Co on, let’s talk about my father."
"Who am I?"
"You, sir? You’re my adoptive father. But I don’t think you’re the one who gave a hundred thousand francs to spend in four or five months. You didn’t create an Italian gentleman to be my father. You didn’t introduce into high society and get invited to that dinner at Auteuil, which I feel like I’m still eating now, in the company of Paris’s most distinguished people. Including a certain prosecutor whose friendship I should’ve cultivated, since he’d be very useful to right now. And you weren’t the one who bailed out for one or two million when my little secret was discovered. Co on, speak, my worthy Corsican!"
"What do you want to say?"
"I’ll help you. You ntioned the Champs-Élysées just now."
"Well?"
"Well, on the Champs-Élysées lives a very rich gentleman."
"At whose house you robbed and murdered, correct?"
"I believe I did."
"The Count of Monte Cristo?"
"You’re the one who nad him. So should I rush into his arms, crying ’My father, my father!’ like so lodrama?"
"Don’t joke about this," Bertuccio said gravely, "and don’t dare utter that na again the way you just did."
"Why not?" Andrea asked, sowhat shaken by Bertuccio’s solemn manner.
"Because the person who bears that na is too highly favored by heaven to be the father of a wretch like you."
"Those are pretty words."
"And there will be serious consequences if you’re not careful."
"Threats? I’m not afraid. I’ll tell-"
"Do you think you’re dealing with soone weak like yourself?" Bertuccio said in such a calm tone, with such a steady look, that Andrea felt shaken to his core. "Do you think you’re dealing with common criminals or naive fools? Benedetto, you’ve fallen into terrible hands. Those hands are ready to open for you, use them wisely. Don’t play with the thunderbolt they’ve temporarily set aside but can pick up again instantly if you try to interfere."
"I will know who my father is," the young man said obstinately. "I’ll die if I must, but I’ll know. What do I care about scandal? What possessions, reputation, or influence do I have? You powerful people always have sothing to lose from scandal, despite your millions. Co on, who is my father?"
"I ca to tell you."
"Ah!" Benedetto cried, his eyes sparkling with joy.
Just then the door opened, and the jailer addressed Bertuccio, "Excuse , sir, but the examining magistrate is waiting for the prisoner."
"And so our eting ends," Andrea said to the steward. "I wish that troubleso fellow were in hell!"
"I’ll return tomorrow," Bertuccio said.
"Good! Officers, I’m at your service. Oh, sir, please leave a few coins for at the gate so I can buy so things I need!"
"It will be done," Bertuccio replied.
Andrea extended his hand, but Bertuccio kept his own in his pocket, rely jingling so coins.
"That’s what I ant," Andrea said, trying to smile, completely unsettled by Bertuccio’s strange calmness. "Could I be mistaken?" he muttered as he stepped into the long, barred wagon they called "the salad basket."
"Never mind, we’ll see! Tomorrow then!" he added, turning toward Bertuccio.
"Tomorrow," the steward replied.
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