Chapter 61 - Page 2

always remained on the two
opposite sides of the basin. There was not a blade of grass
to be seen in the paths, or a weed in the flower-beds; no
fine lady ever trained and watered her geraniums, her cacti,
and her rhododendrons, with more pains than this hitherto
unseen gardener bestowed upon his little enclosure. Monte
Cristo stopped after having closed the gate and fastened the
string to the nail, and cast a look around.

"The man at the telegraph," said he, "must either engage a
gardener or devote himself passionately to agriculture."
Suddenly he struck against something crouching behind a
wheelbarrow filled with leaves; the something rose, uttering
an exclamation of astonishment, and Monte Cristo found
himself facing a man about fifty years old, who was plucking
strawberries, which he was placing upon grape leaves. He had
twelve leaves and about as many strawberries, which, on
rising suddenly, he let fall from his hand. "You are
gathering your crop, sir?" said Monte Cristo, smiling.

"Excuse me, sir," replied the man, raising his hand to his
cap; "I am not up there, I know, but I have only just come
down."

"Do not let me interfere with you in anything, my friend,"
said the count; "gather your strawberries, if, indeed, there
are any left."

"I have ten left," said the man, "for here are eleven, and I
had twenty-one, five more than last year. But I am not
surprised; the spring has been warm this year, and
strawberries require heat, sir. This is the reason that,
instead of the sixteen I had last year, I have this year,
you see, eleven, already plucked -- twelve, thirteen,
fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Ah, I miss
three, they were here last night, sir -- I am sure they were
here -- I counted them. It must be the Mere Simon's son who
has stolen them; I saw him strolling about here this
morning. Ah, the young rascal -- stealing in a garden -- he
does not know where that may lead him to."

"Certainly, it is wrong," said Monte Cristo, "but you should
take into consideration the youth and greediness of the
delinquent."

"Of course," said the gardener, "but that does not make it
the less unpleasant. But, sir, once more I beg pardon;
perhaps you are an officer that I am detaining here." And he
glanced timidly at the count's blue coat.

"Calm yourself, my friend," said the count, with the smile
which he made at will either terrible or benevolent, and
which now expressed only the kindliest feeling; "I am not an
inspector, but a traveller, brought here by a curiosity he
half repents of, since he causes you to lose your time."

"Ah, my time is not valuable," replied the man with a
melancholy smile. "Still it belongs to