“He must be mad,” said the inspector.
“He is worse than that—he is a devil!” returned the turnkey.
“Shall I complain of him?” demanded the inspector.
“Oh, no; it is useless. Besides, he is almost mad now, and in another year he will be quite so.”
“So much the better for him—he will suffer less,” said the inspector. He was, as this remark shows, a man full of philanthropy, and in every way fit for his office.
“You are right, sir,” replied the governor; “and this remark proves that you have deeply considered the subject. Now we have in a dungeon about twenty feet distant, and to which you descend by another stair, an old abbé, formerly leader of a party in Italy, who has been here since 1811, and in 1813 he went mad, and the change is astonishing. He used to weep, he now laughs; he grew thin, he now grows fat. You had better see him, for his madness is amusing.”
“I will see them both,” returned the inspector; “I must conscientiously perform my duty.”
This was the inspector’s first visit; he wished to display his authority.
“Let us visit this one first,” added he.
“By all means,” replied the governor, and he signed to the turnkey to open the door. At the sound of the key turning in the lock, and the creaking of the hinges, Dantès, who was crouched in a corner of the dungeon, whence he could see the ray of light that came through a narrow iron grating above, raised his head.