"You had never anything to complain of?" said the governor to the jailer who had charge of the abbé.
"Never, sir," replied the jailer, "never; on the contrary, he sometimes amused me very much by telling me stories. One day, too, when my wife was ill, he gave me a prescription which cured her."
"Ah, ah!" said the doctor, "I was ignorant that I had a colleague: but I hope, M. le Gouverneur, that you will show him all proper respect in consequence."
"Yes, yes, make your mind easy; he shall be decently interred in the newest sack we can find. Will that satisfy you!"
"Must we do this last formality in your presence, sir?" inquired a turnkey.
"Certainly. But make haste — I cannot stay here all day." Fresh footsteps, going and coming, were now heard, and a moment afterward the noise of cloth being rubbed reached Dantès' ears, the bed creaked on its hinges, and the heavy foot of a man who lifts a weight resounded on the floor; then the bed again creaked under the weight deposited upon it.
"In the evening!" said the governor.
"Will there be any mass?" asked one of the attendants.
"That is impossible," replied the governor. The chaplain of the château came to me yesterday to beg for leave of absence, in order to take a trip to Hyères for a week. I told him I would attend to the prisoners in his absence. If the poor abbé had not been in such a hurry, he might have had his requiem."
"Pooh! pooh!" said the doctor, with the accustomed impiety of persons of his profession, "he is a churchman. God will respect his profession, and not give the devil the wicked delight of sending him a priest." A shout of laughter followed this brutal jest. During this time the operation of putting the body in the sack was going on.
"This evening," said the governor, when the task was ended.
"At what o'clock?" inquired a turnkey.
"Why, about ten or eleven o'clock."
"Shall we watch by the corpse?"
"Of what use would it be? Shut the dungeon as if he were alive — that is all."
Then the steps retreated, and the voices died away in the distance; the noise of the door, with its creaking hinges and bolts, ceased, and a silence duller than any solitude ensued the silence of death, which pervaded all, and struck its icy chill through the young man's whole frame.
Then he raised the flag-stone cautiously with his head, and looked carefully round the chamber. It was empty; and Dantès, quitting the passage, entered it.
