“Tell me, at least, who you are?”
“I am—I am No. 27.”
“You mistrust me, then,” said Dantès. Edmond fancied he heard a bitter laugh resounding from the depths.
“Oh, I am a Christian,” cried Dantès, guessing instinctively that this man meant to abandon him. “I swear to you by him who died for us that naught shall induce me to breathe one syllable to my jailers; but I conjure you do not abandon me. If you do, I swear to you, for I have got to the end of my strength, that I will dash my brains out against the wall, and you will have my death to reproach yourself with.”
“How old are you? Your voice is that of a young man.”
“I do not know my age, for I have not counted the years I have been here. All I do know is, that I was just nineteen when I was arrested, the 28th of February, 1815.”
“Not quite twenty-six!” murmured the voice; “at that age he cannot be a traitor.”
“Oh, no, no,” cried Dantès. “I swear to you again, rather than betray you, I would allow myself to be hacked in pieces!”
“You have done well to speak to me, and ask for my assistance, for I was about to form another plan, and leave you; but your age reassures me. I will not forget you. Wait.”
“How long?”
“I must calculate our chances; I will give you the signal.”
“But you will not leave me; you will come to me, or you will let me come to you. We will escape, and if we cannot escape we will talk; you of those