"Oh," said Monte-Cristo, "it would be quite superfluous for you to tell me, for I already know it."
"M. le Comte knows everything," said the Italian, bowing.
"Oliva Corsinari, was it not?"
"Oliva Corsinari!"
"A marchioness?"
"A marchioness!"
"And you married her at last, notwithstanding the opposition of her family?"
"Yes, I did so."
"And you have doubtless brought all your papers with you?" said Monte-Cristo.
"What papers?"
"The certificate of your marriage with Oliva Corsinari, and the register of your child's birth."
"The register of my child's birth?"
"The register of the birth of Andrea Cavalcanti—of your son; is not his name Andrea?"
"I believe so," said the major.
"What! you are not sure that is his name?"
"I dare not positively assert it, as he has been lost for so long a time."
"Well, then," said Monte-Cristo, "you have all the documents with you?"
"M. le Comte, I regret to say that, not knowing it was necessary to come provided with these papers, I neglected to bring them with me."
"That is unfortunate," returned Monte-Cristo.
"Were they, then, so necessary?"
"They were indispensable."
The major passed his hand across his brow.
"Ah, per bacco, indispensable, were they?"
"Certainly they were; supposing there were to be doubts raised as to the validity of your marriage or the legitimacy of your child?"
"True," said the major, "there might be doubts raised."
"In that case your son would be very unpleasantly situated."
"It would be fatal to his interests."
"It might cause him to fail in some desirable matrimonial speculation."
"O peccato!"
"You must know that in France they are very particular on these points; it is not sufficient, as in Italy, to go to the priest and say, 'We love each other, and want you to marry us.' Marriage is a civil affair
