The Abbé’s Chamber
After having passed with tolerable ease through the subterranean passage, which, however, did not admit of their holding themselves erect, the two friends reached the further end of the corridor, into which the abbé’s cell opened; from that point the passage became much narrower, and barely permitted one to creep through on hands and knees. The floor of the abbé’s cell was paved, and it had been by raising one of the stones in the most obscure corner that Faria had been able to commence the laborious task of which Dantès had witnessed the completion.
As he entered the chamber of his friend, Dantès cast around one eager and searching glance in quest of the expected marvels, but nothing more than common met his view.
“It is well,” said the abbé; “we have some hours before us—it is now just a quarter past twelve o’clock.” Instinctively Dantès turned round to observe by what watch or clock the abbé had been able so accurately to specify the hour.
“Look at this ray of light which enters by my window,” said the abbé, “and then observe the lines traced on the wall. Well, by means of these lines, which are in accordance with the double motion of the earth, and the ellipse it describes round the sun, I am enabled to ascertain the precise hour with more minuteness than if I possessed a watch; for that might be broken or deranged in its movements, while the sun and earth never vary in their appointed paths.”
This last explanation was wholly lost upon Dantès, who had always imagined, from seeing the sun rise from behind the mountains and set in