“And you go into that house?” cried he briskly.
“When I like.”
Caderousse was thoughtful for a moment. It was easy to perceive he was revolving some unfortunate idea in his mind. Then suddenly,—
“How I should like to see all that,” cried he; “how beautiful it must be!”
“It is, in fact, magnificent,” said Andrea.
“And does he not live in the Champs-Élysées?”
“Yes, No. 30.”
“Ah,” said Caderousse, “No. 30.”
“Yes, a fine house standing alone, between a courtyard and a garden,—you must know it.”
“Possibly; but it is not the exterior I care for, it is the interior. What beautiful furniture there must be in it!”
“Have you ever seen the Tuileries?”
“No.”
“Well, it surpasses that.”
“It must be worth one’s while to stoop, Andrea, when that good M. Monte Cristo lets fall his purse.”
“It is not worthwhile to wait for that,” said Andrea; “money is as plentiful in that house as fruit in an orchard.”
“But you should take me there one day with you.”
“How can I? On what plea?”
“You are right; but you have made my mouth water. I must absolutely see it; I shall find a way.”
“No nonsense, Caderousse!”
“I will offer myself as floor-polisher.”
“The rooms are all carpeted.”
“Well, then, I must be contented to imagine it.”
“That is the best plan, believe me.”
“Try, at least, to give me an idea of what it is.”
“How can I?”
“Nothing is easier. Is it large?”
“Middling.”
“How is it arranged?”