on the head, and went out of the lodge, weeping. At no other
time, even when he had lost heavily on the Stock Exchange, had he felt
so great a contempt for himself. When he got home he lay on his bed, but
his tears and emotion kept him for hours from sleeping.

Next morning the watchmen ran in with pale faces, and told him they had
seen the man who lived in the lodge climb out of the window into the
garden, go to the gate, and disappear. The banker went at once with the
servants to the lodge and made sure of the flight of his prisoner. To
avoid arousing unnecessary talk, he took from the table the writing in
which the millions were renounced, and when he got home locked it up in
the fireproof safe.

THE HEAD-GARDENER'S STORY

A SALE of flowers was taking place in Count N.'s greenhouses. The
purchasers were few in number--a landowner who was a neighbor of mine,
a young timber-merchant, and myself. While the workmen were carrying out
our magnificent purchases and packing them into the carts, we sat at the
entry of the greenhouse and chatted about one thing and another. It
is extremely pleasant to sit in a garden on a still April morning,
listening to the birds, and watching the flowers brought out into the
open air and basking in the sunshine.

The head-gardener, Mihail Karlovitch, a venerable old man with a full
shaven face, wearing a fur waistcoat and no coat, superintended the
packing of the plants himself, but at the same time he listened to
our conversation in the hope of hearing something new. He was an
intelligent, very good-hearted man, respected by everyone. He was
for some reason looked upon by everyone as a German, though he was in
reality on his father's side Swedish, on his mother's side Russian, and
attended the Orthodox church. He knew Russian, Swedish, and German. He
had read a good deal in those languages, and nothing one could do gave
him greater pleasure than lending him some new book or talking to him,
for instance, about Ibsen.

He had his weaknesses, but they were innocent ones: he called himself
the head gardener, though there were no under-gardeners; the expression
of his face was unusually dignified and haughty; he could not endure to
be contradicted, and liked to be listened to with respect and attention.

"That young fellow there I can recommend to you as an awful rascal,"
said my neighbor, pointing to a laborer with a swarthy, gipsy face, who
drove by with the water-barrel. "Last w