are nearly expired; 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 stages. The lowest contained gardening implements, such as spades, rakes, watering-pots, hung against the wall; this was all the furniture. The second was the usual dwelling, or rather sleeping-place of the man; 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 peas, and of which the good man was preserving the seeds, having labeled 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, sir?" 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 on to the third stage; it was the room of the telegraph. Monte-Cristo looked in turns 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 or two 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.
