id the count, "that you do not always yourselves
understand the signals you repeat."

"That is true, sir, and that is what I like best," said the man,
smiling.

"Why do you like that best?"

"Because then I have no responsibility. I am a machine then, and nothing
else, and so long as I work, nothing more is required of me."

"Is it possible," said Monte Cristo to himself, "that I can have met
with a man that has no ambition? That would spoil my plans."

"Sir," said the gardener, glancing at the sun-dial, "the ten minutes are
almost up; I must return to my post. Will you go up with me?"

"I follow you." Monte Cristo entered the tower, which was divided into
three stories. The tower contained implements, such as spades, rakes,
watering-pots, hung against the wall; this was all the furniture. The
second was the man's conventional abode, or rather sleeping-place; it
contained a few poor articles of household furniture--a bed, a table,
two chairs, a stone pitcher--and some dry herbs, hung up to the ceiling,
which the count recognized as sweet pease, and of which the good man was
preserving the seeds; he had labelled them with as much care as if he
had been master botanist in the Jardin des Plantes.

"Does it require much study to learn the art of telegraphing?" asked
Monte Cristo.

"The study does not take long; it was acting as a supernumerary that was
so tedious."

"And what is the pay?"

"A thousand francs, sir."

"It is nothing."

"No; but then we are lodged, as you perceive."

Monte Cristo looked at the room. They passed to the third story; it was
the telegraph room. Monte Cristo looked in turn at the two iron handles
by which the machine was worked. "It is very interesting," he said, "but
it must be very tedious for a lifetime."

"Yes. At first my neck was cramped with looking at it, but at the end
of a year I became used to it; and then we have our hours of recreation,
and our holidays."

"Holidays?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"When we have a fog."

"Ah, to be sure."

"Those are indeed holidays to me; I go into the garden, I plant, I
prune, I trim, I kill the insects all day long."

"How long have you been here?"

"Ten years, and five as a supernumerary make fifteen."

"You are--"

"Fifty-five years old."

"How long must you have served to claim the pension?"

"Oh, sir, twenty-five years."

"And how much is the pension?"

"A hundred crowns."

"Poor humanity!" murmured Monte Cristo.