One morning shortly after the departure of the Morrels for Rome, the Count of Monte-Cristo was driving along the Champs-Elysées in his elegant barouche drawn by a pair of spirited, blooded bays, when, near the Rond-point, his progress was suddenly checked by a great, tumultuous concourse of people. Leaning from his carriage, he asked a workman the cause of the unwonted commotion and was informed that two Italians had been arrested for theft and were being taken to the poste of the quarter by a couple of gardiens de la paix. He thought nothing of the circumstance and was calmly waiting for an opportunity to proceed when the crowd about the barouche opened and the officers appeared with their captives. The Count was not much interested, but, nevertheless, bestowed a passing glance upon the malefactors, who were loudly protesting their innocence in broken, almost unintelligible French, and offering a stout resistance. They were roughly attired in blue blouses, wearing felt hats that were pulled down and obscured their countenances. One of the men in custody caught hold of a spoke of a wheel of Monte-Cristo's vehicle, grasping it with such iron firmness that all the efforts of the policeman in charge of him failed to shake off his clutch. The Count ordered Ali, who was acting as coachman, to hand him the reins, dismount and assist the gardien.
At the sound of his voice, the man who had grasped the spoke looked up with a start and, without relaxing his hold, cried out in Italian: "Say a word for me, your Excellency! The Count of Monte-Cristo should have as much power over the myrmidons of the French law as over Luigi Vampa and his band!"
This exclamation amazed and startled the Count, so strange and unlooked for was it. He gazed penetratingly at the malefactor who had uttered it, but his scrutiny was unrewarded by recognition.
"Who are you?" he asked, as soon as his amazement permitted him to speak, also making use of the Italian language. "You are a perfect stranger to me, yet you know my name and seem acquainted with some of my actions in the past. Who are you?"
"I am Peppino," answered the man, without taking his eyes from the Count. "My companion who is being dragged away yonder is Beppo."
"Peppino?--Beppo?" said the Count, musingly. "Surely I have heard those names before, but they are common in Italy, especially in Rome, and I have been there frequently. Be more explicit, man."
"I will," replied the Italian. "I am the Peppino who served you so well when Luigi Vampa held the French banker, Danglars, in captivity at your behest. As for Beppo, you cannot have forgotten him; he also was a member of Vampa's band at that period."