THE COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO.
261
"Move, monsieur—move away, I entreat you; you are exactly in the spot!"
"What spot?"
"Where he fell."
In the Garden at Auteuil.
"My dear M. Bertuccio," said Monte-Cristo, laughing, "recover yourself; we are no longer at Sartène or at Corte. This is not a mâquis but an English garden; badly kept, I own, but still you must not calumniate it for that."
"Monsieur, I implore you, do not stay there!"
