"Ma foi, yes; though he was in his own element."

"What do you mean?"

"The report was that he had been a naval officer, who had
been confined for plotting with the Bonapartists."

"Great is truth," muttered the count, "fire cannot burn, nor
water drown it! Thus the poor sailor lives in the
recollection of those who narrate his history; his terrible
story is recited in the chimney-corner, and a shudder is
felt at the description of his transit through the air to be
swallowed by the deep." Then, the count added aloud, "Was
his name ever known?"

"Oh, yes; but only as No. 34."

"Oh, Villefort, Villefort," murmured the count, "this scene
must often have haunted thy sleepless hours!"

"Do you wish to see anything more, sir?" said the concierge.

"Yes, especially if you will show me the poor abbe's room."

"Ah -- No. 27."

"Yes; No. 27." repeated the count, who seemed to hear the
voice of the abbe answering him in those very words through
the wall when asked his name.

"Come, sir."

"Wait," said Monte Cristo, "I wish to take one final glance
around this room."

"This is fortunate," said the guide; "I have forgotten the
other key."

"Go and fetch it."

"I will leave you the torch, sir."

"No, take it away; I can see in the dark."

"Why, you are like No. 34. They said he was so accustomed to
darkness that he could see a pin in the darkest corner of
his dungeon."

"He spent fourteen years to arrive at that," muttered the
count.

The guide carried away the torch. The count had spoken
correctly. Scarcely had a few seconds elapsed, ere he saw
everything as distinctly as by daylight. Then he looked
around him, and really recognized his dungeon.

"Yes," he said, "there is the stone upon which I used to
sit; there is the impression made by my shoulders on the
wall; there is the mark of my blood made when one day I
dashed my head against the wall. Oh, those figures, how well
I remember them! I made them one day to calculate the age of
my father, that I might know whether I should find him still
living, and that of Mercedes, to know if I should find her
still free. After finishing that calculation, I had a
minute's hope. I did not reckon upon hunger and infidelity!"
and a bitter laugh escaped the count. He saw in fancy the
burial of his father, and the marriage of Mercedes. On the
other side of the dungeon he perceived an inscription, the
white letters of which were still visible on the green wall.
"`O God,'" he read, "`preserve my memory!' Oh, yes," he
cried, "that was my only prayer at last; I no longer begged
for liberty, but memory; I dreaded to become mad and
forgetful. O God, thou hast preserved my memory; I thank
thee, I thank thee!" At this moment the light of the torch
was reflected on the wall; the guide was coming; Monte
Cristo went to meet him.

"Follow me, sir;" and without ascending the stairs the guide
conducted him by a subterraneous passage to another
entrance. There, again, Monte Cristo was assailed by a
multitude of thoughts. The first thing that met his eye was
the meridian, drawn by the abbe on the wall, by which he
calculated the time; then he saw the remains of the bed on
which the poor prisoner had died. The sight of this, instead
of exciting the anguish experienced by the count in the
dungeon, filled his heart with a soft and grateful
sentiment, and tears fell from his eyes.

"This is where the mad abbe was kept, sir, and that is where
the young man entered; "and the guide pointed to the
opening, which had remained unclosed. "From the appearance
of the stone," he continued, "a learned gentleman discovered
that the prisoners might have communicated together for ten
years. Poor things! Those must have been ten weary years."

Dantes took some louis from his pocket, and gave them to the
man who had twice unconsciously pitied him. The guide took
them, thinking them merely a few pieces of little value; but
the light of the torch revealed their true worth. "Sir," he


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