It was time, for the jailer was coming. On this occasion he began his rounds at Dantès’ cell, and on leaving him he went on to Faria’s dungeon, taking thither breakfast and some linen. Nothing betokened that the man knew anything of what had occurred. He went on his way.
Dantès was then seized with an indescribable desire to know what was going on in the dungeon of his unfortunate friend. He therefore returned by the subterraneous gallery, and arrived in time to hear the exclamations of the turnkey, who called out for help. Other turnkeys came, and then was heard the regular tramp of soldiers. Last of all came the governor.
Edmond heard the creaking of the bed as they moved the corpse, heard the voice of the governor, who asked them to throw water on the dead man’s face; and seeing that, in spite of this application, the prisoner did not recover, they sent for the doctor. The governor then went out, and words of pity fell on Dantès’ listening ears, mingled with brutal laughter.
“Well, well,” said one, “the madman has gone to look after his treasure. Good journey to him!”
“With all his millions, he will not have enough to pay for his shroud!” said another.
“Oh,” added a third voice, “the shrouds of the Château d’If are not dear!”
“Perhaps,” said one of the previous speakers, “as he was a churchman, they may go to some expense in his behalf.”
“They may give him the honors of the sack.”