ignation would get the better of him
in an interview and, besides, he knew it would be entirely useless to
approach the Count without being armed with young Massetti's complete
vindication.

During one of those strolls already alluded to the Viscount went much
further than usual. It was a bright, balmy and cheerful morning, and the
sun's gladdening radiance, the brilliant green of the trees, the
fragrant odors from flowers and grass, the chirping of insect life and
the wild, intoxicating songs of the birds all contributed to draw him on
and to make him forget Monte-Cristo's injunctions as to keeping out of
the sight of the passers-by.

He scarcely noticed in what direction he walked or what road he took,
indulging in a careless, delicious daydream full of dolce far niente
delights. He had fixed his eyes upon the ground and was sauntering
leisurely along when, all at once, he became conscious that some one was
approaching. He hastily looked up. The pedestrian was yet some distance
away, but his heavy shoes clattered upon the gravel of the highway with
a ringing sound. He was evidently an old man and a peasant. In his right
hand he held a staff and his large, broad-brimmed hat was drawn down
slightly over his visage as if to protect it from the heat of the sun.
Giovanni was about to step aside into a little grove of chestnut trees
beside the road there to wait until the new comer had passed, but on
taking a second glance at him something familiar in his aspect suddenly
arrested him, and by one of those inexplicable impulses which sometimes
take possession of a man he paused and waited.

The peasant had also noticed Giovanni and his action, but he did not
relax his pace, did not seem inclined to pay even the slightest
attention to him. He came tramping on, reached the Viscount and passed
him without as much as a nod of the head in salutation. But Massetti
with a start recognized him. With a flush of rage on his face and all
his blood boiling in his veins, he turned, sprang after the old man and
laid his hand upon his shoulder. The peasant abruptly halted, also
turned, and a fierce imprecation escaped his lips. He surveyed the irate
young Italian from head to foot, sneeringly, scowlingly.

"Why, do you stop me?" he said, roughly. "I do not know you."

"But, Pasquale Solara, I know you!" exclaimed the Viscount. "We have met
in good time and in a fit place! The opportunity for which I have long
and impatiently waited has