desperate. He was still young -- he was only four or five
and twenty -- he had nearly fifty years to live. What
unforseen events might not open his prison door, and restore
him to liberty? Then he raised to his lips the repast that,
like a voluntary Tantalus, he refused himself; but he
thought of his oath, and he would not break it. He persisted
until, at last, he had not sufficient strength to rise and
cast his supper out of the loophole. The next morning he
could not see or hear; the jailer feared he was dangerously
ill. Edmond hoped he was dying.

Thus the day passed away. Edmond felt a sort of stupor
creeping over him which brought with it a feeling almost of
content; the gnawing pain at his stomach had ceased; his
thirst had abated; when he closed his eyes he saw myriads of
lights dancing before them like the will-o'-the-wisps that
play about the marshes. It was the twilight of that
mysterious country called Death!

Suddenly, about nine o'clock in the evening, Edmond heard a
hollow sound in the wall against which he was lying.

So many loathsome animals inhabited the prison, that their
noise did not, in general, awake him; but whether abstinence
had quickened his faculties, or whether the noise was really
louder than usual, Edmond raised his head and listened. It
was a continual scratching, as if made by a huge claw, a
powerful tooth, or some iron instrument attacking the
stones.

Although weakened, the young man's brain instantly responded
to the idea that haunts all prisoners -- liberty! It seemed
to him that heaven had at length taken pity on him, and had
sent this noise to warn him on the very brink of the abyss.
Perhaps one of those beloved ones he had so often thought of
was thinking of him, and striving to diminish the distance
that separated them.

No, no, doubtless he was deceived, and it was but one of
those dreams that forerun death!

Edmond still heard the sound. It lasted nearly three hours;
he then heard a noise of something falling, and all was
silent.

Some hours afterwards it began again, nearer and more
distinct. Edmond was intensely interested. Suddenly the
jailer entered.

For a week since he had resolved to die, and during the four
days that he had been carrying out his purpose, Edmond had
not spoken to the attendant, had not answered him when he
inquired what was the matter with him, and turned his face
to the wall when he looked too curiously at him; but now the
jailer might hear the noise and put an end to it, and so
destroy a ray of something like hope that soothed his last
moments.

The jailer brought him his breakfast. Dantes raised himself
up and began to talk about everything; about the bad quality
of the food, about the coldness of his dungeon, grumbling
and complaining, in order to have an excuse for speaking
louder, and wearying the patience of his jailer, who out of
kindness of heart had brought broth and white bread for his
prisoner.

Fortunately, he fancied that Dantes was delirious; and
placing the food on the rickety table, he withdrew. Edmond
listened, and the sound became more and more distinct.

"There can be no doubt about it," thought he; "it is some
prisoner who is striving to obtain his freedom. Oh, if I
were only there to help him!" Suddenly another idea took
possession of his mind, so used to misfortune, that it was
scarcely capable of hope -- the idea that the noise was made
by workmen the governor had ordered to repair the
neighboring dungeon.

It was easy to ascertain this; but how could he risk the
question? It was easy to call his jailer's attention to the
noise, and watch his countenance as he listened; but might
he not by this means destroy hopes far more important than
the short-lived satisfaction of his own curiosity?
Unfortunately, Edmond's brain was still so feeble that he
could not bend his thoughts to anything in particular.

He saw but one means of restoring lucidity and clearness to
his judgment. He turned his eyes towards the soup which the
jailer had brought, rose, staggered towards it, raised the
vessel to his lips, and drank off the contents with a
feeling of indescribable pleasure. He had often heard that
shipwrecked persons had died through having eagerly devoured
too much food. Edmond replaced on the table the bread he was
about to devour, and returned to his couch -- he did not
wish to die. He soon felt that his ideas became again
collected -- he could think, and strengthen his thoughts by
reasoning. Then he said to himself, "I must put this to the
test, but without compromising anybody. If it is a workman,
I need but knock against the wall, and he will cease to
work, in order to find out who is knocking, and why he does


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