“All right, all right,” said the jailer; “all right, since you will have it so. I will send word to the governor.”
“Very well,” returned Dantès, dropping the stool and sitting on it as if he were in reality mad. The jailer went out, and returned in an instant with a corporal and four soldiers.
“By the governor’s orders,” said he, “conduct the prisoner to the tier beneath.”
“To the dungeon, then,” said the corporal.
“Yes; we must put the madman with the madmen.” The soldiers seized Dantès, who followed passively.
He descended fifteen steps, and the door of a dungeon was opened, and he was thrust in. The door closed, and Dantès advanced with outstretched hands until he touched the wall; he then sat down in the corner until his eyes became accustomed to the darkness. The jailer was right; Dantès wanted but little of being utterly mad.
Chapter 9. The Evening of the Betrothal
Villefort had, as we have said, hastened back to Madame de Saint-Méran’s in the Place du Grand Cours, and on entering the house found that the guests whom he had left at table were taking coffee in the salon. Renée was, with all the rest of the company, anxiously awaiting him, and his entrance was followed by a general exclamation.
“Well, Decapitator, Guardian of the State, Royalist, Brutus, what is the matter?” said one. “Speak out.”
“Are we threatened with a fresh Reign of Terror?” asked another.
“Has the Corsican ogre broken loose?” cried a third.
“Marquise,” said Villefort, approaching his future mother-in-law, “I request your pardon for thus leaving you. Will the marquis honor me by a few moments’ private conversation?”