Monte Cristo took a paper from his pocket, upon which were drawn three signs, with numbers to indicate 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 fell from his brow, the man executed, one after the other, the three signs given by the count, in spite of the frightful contortions of the right-hand correspondent, who, not understanding the change, began to think the gardener had gone mad. As to the left-hand one, he conscientiously repeated the same signals, which were finally transmitted to the Minister of the Interior.
“Now you are rich,” said Monte Cristo.
“Yes,” replied the man, “but at what a price!”
“Listen, friend,” said Monte Cristo. “I do not wish to cause you any remorse; believe me, then, when I swear to you that you have wronged no man, but on the contrary have benefited mankind.”
The man looked at the banknotes, felt them, counted them, turned pale, then red, then rushed into his room to drink a glass of water, but he had no time to