ng 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 son of Mother Simon 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
official that I am detaining here?" And he glanced timidly at the
count's blue coat.

"Calm yourself, my friend," said the count, with that smile which at
his will became so terrible or benevolent, and which this time beamed
only with the latter expression; "I am not an inspector, but a
traveler, conducted here by 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 the government, and I ought not to
waste it; but having received the signal that I might rest for an
hour" (here he glanced at a sun-dial, for there was everything in
the inclosure of Montlhery, even a sun-dial), "and having ten
minutes before me, and my strawberries being ripe, when a day
longer--by-the-by, sir, do you think dormice eat them?"

"Indeed, I should think not," replied Monte Cristo: "dormice are bad
neighbors for us who do not eat them preserved, as the Romans did."

"What! did the Romans eat them?" said the gardener; "eat dormice?"

"I have read so," said the count.

"Really! They can't be nice, though they do say 'as fat as a
dormouse.' It is not a wonder they are fat, sleeping all day, and only
waking to eat all night. Listen: last year I had four apricots--they
stole one; I had one nectarin