in the street, and turned to the one in the dressing-room.

The glass-cutter had entered, and was feeling his way, his arms
stretched out before him. At last he appeared to have made himself
familiar with his surroundings. There were two doors; he bolted them
both.

When he drew near to the bedroom door, Monte Cristo expected that he was
coming in, and raised one of his pistols; but he simply heard the sound
of the bolts sliding in their copper rings. It was only a precaution.
The nocturnal visitor, ignorant of the fact that the count had removed
the staples, might now think himself at home, and pursue his purpose
with full security. Alone and free to act as he wished, the man then
drew from his pocket something which the count could not discern, placed
it on a stand, then went straight to the secretary, felt the lock, and
contrary to his expectation found that the key was missing. But the
glass-cutter was a prudent man who had provided for all emergencies. The
count soon heard the rattling of a bunch of skeleton keys, such as the
locksmith brings when called to force a lock, and which thieves call
nightingales, doubtless from the music of their nightly song when they
grind against the bolt. "Ah, ha," whispered Monte Cristo with a smile of
disappointment, "he is only a thief."

But the man in the dark could not find the right key. He reached the
instrument he had placed on the stand, touched a spring, and immediately
a pale light, just bright enough to render objects distinct, was
reflected on his hands and countenance. "By heavens," exclaimed Monte
Cristo, starting back, "it is"--

Ali raised his hatchet. "Don't stir," whispered Monte Cristo, "and put
down your hatchet; we shall require no arms." Then he added some words
in a low tone, for the exclamation which surprise had drawn from the
count, faint as it had been, had startled the man who remained in the
pose of the old knife-grinder. It was an order the count had just given,
for immediately Ali went noiselessly, and returned, bearing a black
dress and a three-cornered hat. Meanwhile Monte Cristo had rapidly taken
off his great-coat, waistcoat, and shirt, and one might distinguish by
the glimmering through the open panel that he wore a pliant tunic of
steel mail, of which the last in France, where daggers are no longer
dreaded, was worn by King Louis XVI., who feared the dagger at his
breast, and whose head was cleft with a hatchet. The tunic soon
disappeared u