“I recollect this, because the poor devil’s death was accompanied by a singular incident.”
“May I ask what that was?” said the Englishman with an expression of curiosity, which a close observer would have been astonished at discovering in his phlegmatic countenance.
“Oh dear, yes, sir; the abbé’s dungeon was forty or fifty feet distant from that of one of Bonaparte’s emissaries—one of those who had contributed the most to the return of the usurper in 1815, a very resolute and very dangerous man.”
“Indeed!” said the Englishman.
“Yes,” replied M. de Boville; “I myself had occasion to see this man in 1816 or 1817, and we could only go into his dungeon with a file of soldiers. That man made a deep impression on me; I shall never forget his countenance!”
The Englishman smiled imperceptibly.
“And you say, sir,” he interposed, “that the two dungeons—”
“Were separated by a distance of fifty feet; but it appears that this Edmond Dantès—”
“This dangerous man’s name was—”
“Edmond Dantès. It appears, sir, that this Edmond Dantès had procured tools, or made them, for they found a tunnel through which the prisoners held communication with one another.”
“This tunnel was dug, no doubt, with an intention of escape?”
“No doubt; but unfortunately for the prisoners, the Abbé Faria had an attack of catalepsy, and died.”