CHAPTER XIV
THE TWO PRISONERS
YEAR after Louis XVIII's restoration, a visit was made by the inspector-general of prisons. Dantès heard from the recesses of his cell the noises made by the preparations for receiving him, — sounds that at the depth where he lay would have been inaudible to any but the ear of a prisoner, who could distinguish the plash of the drop of water that every hour fell from the roof of his dungeon. He guessed something uncommon was passing among the living; but he had so long ceased to have any intercourse with the world, that he looked upon himself as dead.
The inspector visited the cells and dungeons, one after another, of several of the prisoners whose good behavior or stupidity recommended them to the clemency of the government; the inspector inquired how they were fed, and if they had anything to demand.
The universal response was that the fare was detestable, and that they required their freedom.
The inspector asked if they had anything else to demand. They shook their heads! What could they desire beyond their liberty?
The inspector turned smilingly to the governor.
"I do not know what reason government can assign for these useless visits; when you see one prisoner, you see all, — always the same thing, — ill-fed, and innocent. Are there any others?"
"Yes; the dangerous and mad prisoners are in the dungeons."
"Let us visit them," said the inspector, with an air of fatigue. "I must fulfill my mission. Let us descend."
"Let us first send for two soldiers," said the governor. "The prisoners sometimes, through mere disgust of life, and in order to be sentenced to death, commit acts of useless violence, and you might fall a victim."
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