t it was not because the damp
had been excluded from the garden; the earth, black as soot, the
thick foliage of the trees betrayed its presence; besides, had natural
humidity been wanting, it could have been immediately supplied by
artificial means, thanks to a tank of water, sunk in one of the corners
of the garden, and upon which were stationed a frog and a toad, who,
from antipathy, no doubt, 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."