dungeon

Goodnight.” And before Dantès could open his mouth—before he had noticed where the jailer placed his bread or the water—before he had glanced towards the corner where the straw was, the jailer disappeared, taking with him the lamp and closing the door, leaving stamped upon the prisoner’s mind the dim reflection of the dripping walls of his dungeon.

“No; he was put in a dungeon.”

“To the dungeon, then,” said the corporal.

He descended fifteen steps, and the door of a dungeon was opened, and he was thrust in.