Page:The Count of Monte-Cristo (1887 Volume 1).djvu/187

Rh Some hours afterward it began nearer and more distinct; Edmond became already interested in that labor, which seemed like companionship, when the jailer entered.

For a week that he had resolved to die, and for four days that he put this resolution into execution, Edmond had not spoken to this man, 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 this noise and put an end to it, thus destroying a ray of something like hope that soothed his last moments.

The jailer brought him his breakfast. Dantès raised himself up, and in loud tones began to speak on everything: on the bad quality of his food, on 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 had solicited some broth and white bread for his prisoner, and who had brought it.

Fortunately he fancied Dantès was delirious; and, placing his food on the rickety table, he withdrew. Left alone, Edmond listened, and the sound became more and more distinct.

"There can be no doubt," thought he, "it is some prisoner who is striving to obtain his freedom. Oh, if I were near him, how I would assist him."

Suddenly another idea took possession of his mind, so used to misfortune that it could scarcely understand hope; yet this idea possessed him, that the noise arose from the 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 betray interests far more precious than this short-lived satisfaction? 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 toward the soup his jailer had brought him, rose, staggered toward it, raised the vessel to his lips and drank off the contents with a feeling of indescribable pleasure.

He had the resolution to stop with this. 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, so vague and intangible, became again collected—he could think, and strengthen his thoughts by reasoning. Then he said to himself: