Not on the same night, as he had intended, but the nextmorning, the Count of Monte Cristo went out by the Barrierd'Enfer, taking the road to Orleans. Leaving the village ofLinas, without stopping at the telegraph, which flourishedits great bony arms as he passed, the count reached thetower of Montlhery, situated, as every one knows, upon thehighest point of the plain of that name. At the foot of thehill the count dismounted and began to ascend by a littlewinding path, about eighteen inches wide; when he reachedthe summit he found himself stopped by a hedge, upon whichgreen fruit had succeeded to red and white flowers.

Monte Cristo looked for the entrance to the enclosure, andwas not long in finding a little wooden gate, working onwillow hinges, and fastened with a nail and string. Thecount soon mastered the mechanism, the gate opened, and hethen found himself in a little garden, about twenty feetlong by twelve wide, bounded on one side by part of thehedge, which contained the ingenious contrivance we havecalled a gate, and on the other by the old tower, coveredwith ivy and studded with wall-flowers. No one would havethought in looking at this old, weather-beaten,floral-decked tower (which might be likened to an elderlydame dressed up to receive her grandchildren at a birthdayfeast) that it would have been capable of telling strangethings, if, - in addition to the menacing ears which theproverb says all walls are provided with, - it had also avoice. The garden was crossed by a path of red gravel, edgedby a border of thick box, of many years' growth, and of atone and color that would have delighted the heart ofDelacroix, our modern Rubens. This path was formed in theshape of the figure of 8, thus, in its windings, making awalk of sixty feet in a garden of only twenty.

Never had Flora, the fresh and smiling goddess of gardeners,been honored with a purer or more scrupulous worship thanthat which was paid to her in this little enclosure. Infact, of the twenty rose-trees which formed the parterre,not one bore the mark of the slug, nor were there evidencesanywhere of the clustering aphis which is so destructive toplants growing in a damp soil. And yet it was not becausethe damp had been excluded from the garden; the earth, blackas soot, the thick foliage of the trees betrayed itspresence; besides, had natural humidity been wanting, itcould have been immediately supplied by artificial means,thanks to a tank of water, sunk in one of the corners of thegarden, and upon which were stationed a frog and a toad,who, from antipathy, no doubt, always remained on the twoopposite sides of the basin. There was not a blade of grassto be seen in the paths, or a weed in the flower-beds; nofine lady ever trained and watered her geraniums, her cacti,and her rhododendrons, with more pains than this hithertounseen gardener bestowed upon his little enclosure. MonteCristo stopped after having closed the gate and fastened thestring to the nail, and cast a look around.

"The man at the telegraph," said he, "must either engage agardener or devote himself passionately to agriculture."Suddenly he struck against something crouching behind awheelbarrow filled with leaves; the something rose, utteringan exclamation of astonishment, and Monte Cristo foundhimself facing a man about fifty years old, who was pluckingstrawberries, which he was placing upon grape leaves. He hadtwelve leaves and about as many strawberries, which, onrising suddenly, he let fall from his hand. "You aregathering your crop, sir?" said Monte Cristo, smiling.

"Excuse me, sir," replied the man, raising his hand to hiscap; "I am not up there, I know, but I have only just comedown."

"Do not let me interfere with you in anything, my friend,"said the count; "gather your strawberries, if, indeed, thereare any left."

"I have ten left," said the man, "for here are eleven, and Ihad twenty-one, five more than last year. But I am notsurprised; the spring has been warm this year, andstrawberries 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 missthree, they were here last night, sir - I am sure they werehere - I counted them. It must be the Mere Simon's son whohas stolen them; I saw him strolling about here thismorning. Ah, the young rascal - stealing in a garden - hedoes not know where that may lead him to."

"Certainly, it is wrong," said Monte Cristo, "but you shouldtake into consideration the youth and greediness of thedelinquent."

"Of course," said the gardener, "but that does not make itthe less unpleasant. But, sir, once more I beg pardon;perhaps you are an officer that I am detaining here." And heglanced timidly at the count's blue coat.

"Calm yourself, my friend," said the count, with the smilewhich he made at will either terrible or benevolent, andwhich now expressed only the kindliest feeling; "I am not aninspector, but a traveller, brought here by a curiosity hehalf repents of, since he causes you to lose your time."

"Ah, my time is not valuable," replied the man with amelancholy smile. "Still it belongs to government, and Iought not to waste it; but, having received the signal thatI might rest for an hour" (here he glanced at the sun-dial,for there was everything in the enclosure of Montlhery, evena sun-dial), "and having ten minutes before me, and mystrawberries being ripe, when a day longer - by-the-by,sir, do you think dormice eat them?"

"Indeed, I should think not," replied Monte Cristo; "dormiceare bad neighbors for us who do not eat them preserved, asthe Romans did."

"What? Did the Romans eat them?" said the gardener - "atedormice?"

"I have read so in Petronius," said the count.

"Really? They can't be nice, though they do say `as fat as adormouse.' It is not a wonder they are fat, sleeping allday, and only waking to eat all night. Listen. Last year Ihad four apricots - they stole one, I had one nectarine,only one - well, sir, they ate half of it on the wall; asplendid nectarine - I never ate a better."

"You ate it?"

"That is to say, the half that was left - you understand;it was exquisite, sir. Ah, those gentlemen never choose theworst morsels; like Mere Simon's son, who has not chosen theworst strawberries. But this year," continued thehorticulturist, "I'll take care it shall not happen, even ifI should be forced to sit by the whole night to watch whenthe strawberries are ripe." Monte Cristo had seen enough.Every man has a devouring passion in his heart, as everyfruit has its worm; that of the telegraph man washorticulture. He began gathering the grape-leaves whichscreened the sun from the grapes, and won the heart of thegardener. "Did you come here, sir, to see the telegraph?" hesaid.

"Yes, if it isn't contrary to the rules."

"Oh, no," said the gardener; "not in the least, since thereis no danger that anyone can possibly understand what we aresaying."

"I have been told," said the count, "that you do not alwaysyourselves understand the signals you repeat."

"That is true, sir, and that is what I like best," said theman, 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 isrequired of me."

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

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

"I follow you." Monte Cristo entered the tower, which wasdivided 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'sconventional abode, or rather sleeping-place; it contained afew poor articles of household furniture - a bed, a table,two chairs, a stone pitcher - and some dry herbs, hung upto the ceiling, which the count recognized as sweet pease,and of which the good man was preserving the seeds; he hadlabelled them with as much care as if he had been masterbotanist in the Jardin des Plantes.

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

"The study does not take long; it was acting as asupernumerary 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 thirdstory; it was the telegraph room. Monte Cristo looked inturn at the two iron handles by which the machine wasworked. "It is very interesting," he said, "but it must bevery tedious for a lifetime."

"Yes. At first my neck was cramped with looking at it, butat the end of a year I became used to it; and then we haveour 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, Iplant, 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.

"What did you say, sir?" asked the man.

"I was saying it was very interesting."

"What was?"

"All you were showing me. And you really understand none ofthese signals?"

"None at all."

"And have you never tried to understand them?"

"Never. Why should I?"

"But still there are some signals only addressed to you."

"Certainly."

"And do you understand them?"

"They are always the same."

"And they mean - "

"Nothing new; You have an hour; or To-morrow."

"This is simple enough," said the count; "but look, is notyour correspondent putting itself in motion?"

"Ah, yes; thank you, sir."

"And what is it saying - anything you understand?"

"Yes; it asks if I am ready."

"And you reply?"

"By the same sign, which, at the same time, tells myright-hand correspondent that I am ready, while it givesnotice to my left-hand correspondent to prepare in histurn."

"It is very ingenious," said the count.

"You will see," said the man proudly; "in five minutes hewill speak."

"I have, then, five minutes," said Monte Cristo to himself;"it is more time than I require. My dear sir, will you allowme to ask you a question?"

"What is it, sir?"

"You are fond of gardening?"

"Passionately."

"And you would be pleased to have, instead of this terraceof twenty feet, an enclosure of two acres?"

"Sir, I should make a terrestrial paradise of it."

"You live badly on your thousand francs?"

"Badly enough; but yet I do live."

"Yes; but you have a wretchedly small garden."

"True, the garden is not large."

"And, then, such as it is, it is filled with dormice, whoeat everything."

"Ah, they are my scourges."

"Tell me, should you have the misfortune to turn your headwhile your right-hand correspondent was telegraphing" -

"I should not see him."

"Then what would happen?"

"I could not repeat the signals."

"And then?"

"Not having repeated them, through negligence, I should befined."

"How much?"

"A hundred francs."

"The tenth of your income - that would be fine work."

"Ah," said the man.

"Has it ever happened to you?" said Monte Cristo.

"Once, sir, when I was grafting a rose-tree."

"Well, suppose you were to alter a signal, and substituteanother?"

"Ah, that is another case; I should be turned off, and losemy pension."

"Three hundred francs?"

"A hundred crowns, yes, sir; so you see that I am not likelyto do any of these things."

"Not even for fifteen years' wages? Come, it is worththinking about?"

"For fifteen thousand francs?"

"Yes."

"Sir, you alarm me."

"Nonsense."

"Sir, you are tempting me?"

"Just so; fifteen thousand francs, do you understand?"

"Sir, let me see my right-hand correspondent."

"On the contrary, do not look at him, but at this."

"What is it?"

"What? Do you not know these bits of paper?"

"Bank-notes!"

"Exactly; there are fifteen of them."

"And whose are they?"

"Yours, if you like."

"Mine?" exclaimed the man, half-suffocated.

"Yes; yours - your own property."

"Sir, my right-hand correspondent is signalling."

"Let him signal."

"Sir, you have distracted me; I shall be fined."

"That will cost you a hundred francs; you see it is yourinterest to take my bank-notes."

"Sir, my right-hand correspondent redoubles his signals; heis impatient."

"Never mind - take these;" and the count placed the packetin the man's hands. "Now this is not all," he said; "youcannot live upon your fifteen thousand francs."

"I shall still have my place."

"No, you will lose it, for you are going to alter yourcorrespondent's message."

"Oh, sir, what are you proposing?"

"A jest."

"Sir, unless you force me" -

"I think I can effectually force you;" and Monte Cristo drewanother packet from his pocket. "Here are ten thousand morefrancs," he said, "with the fifteen thousand already in yourpocket, they will make twenty-five thousand. With fivethousand you can buy a pretty little house with two acres ofland; the remaining twenty thousand will bring you in athousand francs a year."

"A garden with two acres of land!"

"And a thousand francs a year."

"Oh, heavens!"

"Come, take them," and Monte Cristo forced the bank-notesinto his hand.

"What am I to do?"

"Nothing very difficult."

"But what is it?"

"To repeat these signs." Monte Cristo took a paper from hispocket, upon which were drawn three signs, with numbers toindicate the order in which they were to be worked.

"There, you see it will not take long."

"Yes; but" -

"Do this, and you will have nectarines and all the rest."The shot told; red with fever, while the large drops fellfrom his brow, the man executed, one after the other, thethree signs given by the count, in spite of the frightfulcontortions of the right-hand correspondent, who, notunderstanding the change, began to think the gardener hadgone mad. As to the left-hand one, he conscientiouslyrepeated the same signals, which were finally transmitted tothe Minister of the Interior. "Now you are rich," said MonteCristo.

"Yes," replied the man, "but at what a price!"

"Listen, friend," said Monte Cristo. "I do not wish to causeyou any remorse; believe me, then, when I swear to you thatyou have wronged no man, but on the contrary have benefitedmankind." The man looked at the bank-notes, felt them,counted them, turned pale, then red, then rushed into hisroom to drink a glass of water, but he had no time to reachthe water-jug, and fainted in the midst of his dried herbs.Five minutes after the new telegram reached the minister,Debray had the horses put to his carriage, and drove toDanglars' house.

"Has your husband any Spanish bonds?" he asked of thebaroness.

"I think so, indeed! He has six millions' worth."

"He must sell them at whatever price."

"Why?"

"Because Don Carlos has fled from Bourges, and has returnedto Spain."

"How do you know?" Debray shrugged his shoulders. "The ideaof asking how I hear the news," he said. The baroness didnot wait for a repetition; she ran to her husband, whoimmediately hastened to his agent, and ordered him to sellat any price. When it was seen that Danglars sold, theSpanish funds fell directly. Danglars lost five hundredthousand francs; but he rid himself of all his Spanishshares. The same evening the following was read in LeMessager:

"[By telegraph.] The king, Don Carlos, has escaped thevigilance of his guardians at Bourges, and has returned toSpain by the Catalonian frontier. Barcelona has risen in hisfavor."

All that evening nothing was spoken of but the foresight ofDanglars, who had sold his shares, and of the luck of thestock-jobber, who only lost five hundred thousand francs bysuch a blow. Those who had kept their shares, or boughtthose of Danglars, looked upon themselves as ruined, andpassed a very bad night. Next morning Le Moniteur containedthe following:

"It was without any foundation that Le Messager yesterdayannounced the flight of Don Carlos and the revolt ofBarcelona. The king (Don Carlos) has not left Bourges, andthe peninsula is in the enjoyment of profound peace. Atelegraphic signal, improperly interpreted, owing to thefog, was the cause of this error."

The funds rose one per cent higher than before they hadfallen. This, reckoning his loss, and what he had missedgaining, made the difference of a million to Danglars."Good," said Monte Cristo to Morrel, who was at his housewhen the news arrived of the strange reverse of fortune ofwhich Danglars's had been the victim, "I have just made adiscovery for twenty-five thousand francs, for which I wouldhave paid a hundred thousand."

"What have you discovered?" asked Morrel.

"I have just discovered how a gardener may get rid of thedormice that eat his peaches."