Bertuccio sighed, and went on first; the stairs did, indeed, lead to the garden. At the outer door the steward paused.

“Go on, Monsieur Bertuccio,” said the count.

But he who was addressed stood there, stupefied, bewildered, stunned; his haggard eyes glanced around, as if in search of the traces of some terrible event, and with his clenched hands he seemed striving to shut out horrible recollections.

“Well!” insisted the Count.

“No, no,” cried Bertuccio, setting down the lantern at the angle of the interior wall. “No, monsieur, it is impossible; I can go no farther.”

“What does this mean?” demanded the irresistible voice of Monte Cristo.