“Edmond Dantès.”
“Your profession?”
“A sailor.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Since the 28th of February, 1815.”
“Your crime?”
“I am innocent.”
“But of what are you accused?”
“Of having conspired to aid the emperor’s return.”
“What! For the emperor’s return?—the emperor is no longer on the throne, then?”
“He abdicated at Fontainebleau in 1814, and was sent to the Island of Elba. But how long have you been here that you are ignorant of all this?”
“Since 1811.”
Dantès shuddered; this man had been four years longer than himself in prison.
“Do not dig any more,” said the voice; “only tell me how high up is your excavation?”
“On a level with the floor.”
“How is it concealed?”
“Behind my bed.”