attacked the ground with the pickaxe. At the fifth or sixth blow the pickaxe struck against an iron substance. Never did funeral knell, never did alarm-bell produce a greater effect on the hearer. Had Dantès found nothing he could not have become more ghastly pale.
He again struck his pickaxe into the earth, and encountered the same resistance, but not the same sound.
"It is a casket of wood bound with iron," thought he.
At this moment a shadow passed rapidly before the opening; Dantès seized his gun, sprang through the opening, and mounted the stair. A wild goat had passed before the mouth of the cave, and was feeding at a little distance. This would have been a favorable occasion to secure his dinner; but Dantès feared lest the report of his gun should attract attention.
He reflected an instant, cut a branch of a resinous tree, lighted it at the fire at which the smugglers had prepared their breakfast, and descended with this torch.
He wished to see all. He approached the hole he had formed with the torch, and saw that he was not deceived, and his pickaxe had in reality struck against iron and wood.
In an instant a space three feet long by two feet broad was cleared, and Dantès could see an oaken coffer, bound with cut steel; in the midst of the lid he saw engraved on a silver plate, which was still untarnished, the arms of the Spada family — viz., a sword, en pale, on an oval shield, like all the Italian armorial bearings, and surmounted by a cardinal's hat.
Dantès easily recognized them, Faria had so often drawn them for him. There was no longer any doubt the treasure was there; no one would have been at such pains to conceal an empty casket. In an instant he had cleared every obstacle away, and he saw successively the lock, placed between two padlocks, and the two handles at each end, all carved as things were carved at that epoch, when art rendered the commonest metals precious.
Dantès seized the handles, and strove to lift the coffer; it was impossible.
He sought to open it; lock and padlock were closed: these faithful guardians seemed unwilling to surrender their trust.
Dantès inserted the sharp end of the pickaxe between the coffer and the lid, and, pressing with all his force on the handle, burst open the fastenings with a crash. The hinges yielded in their turn, and fell, still holding in their grasp fragments of the planks, and all was open.
A vertigo seized Edmond; he cocked his gun and laid it beside him. He then closed his eyes as children do in order to perceive in the
