The Count of Monte Cristo

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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