“This paper, my friend,” said Faria, “I may now avow to you, since I have the proof of your fidelity⁠—this paper is my treasure, of which, from this day forth, one-half belongs to you.”

The sweat started forth on Dantès’ brow. Until this day and for how long a time!⁠—he had refrained from talking of the treasure, which had brought upon the abbé the accusation of madness. With his instinctive delicacy Edmond had preferred avoiding any touch on this painful chord, and Faria had been equally silent. He had taken the silence of the old man for a return to reason; and now these few words uttered by Faria, after so painful a crisis, seemed to indicate a serious relapse into mental alienation.

“Your treasure?” stammered Dantès. Faria smiled.