died. Now
guess what the young one did?"

"Tell me."

"He carried off the corpse, which he placed in his own bed with its face
to the wall; then he entered the empty dungeon, closed the entrance, and
slipped into the sack which had contained the dead body. Did you ever
hear of such an idea?" Monte Cristo closed his eyes, and seemed again
to experience all the sensations he had felt when the coarse canvas,
yet moist with the cold dews of death, had touched his face. The jailer
continued: "Now this was his project. He fancied that they buried the
dead at the Chateau d'If, and imagining they would not expend much labor
on the grave of a prisoner, he calculated on raising the earth with
his shoulders, but unfortunately their arrangements at the Chateau
frustrated his projects. They never buried the dead; they merely
attached a heavy cannon-ball to the feet, and then threw them into the
sea. This is what was done. The young man was thrown from the top of the
rock; the corpse was found on the bed next day, and the whole truth was
guessed, for the men who performed the office then mentioned what they
had not dared to speak of before, that at the moment the corpse was
thrown into the deep, they heard a shriek, which was almost immediately
stifled by the water in which it disappeared." The count breathed with
difficulty; the cold drops ran down his forehead, and his heart was full
of anguish.

"No," he muttered, "the doubt I felt was but the commencement of
forgetfulness; but here the wound reopens, and the heart again thirsts
for vengeance. And the prisoner," he continued aloud, "was he ever heard
of afterwards?"

"Oh, no; of course not. You can understand that one of two things must
have happened; he must either have fallen flat, in which case the blow,
from a height of ninety feet, must have killed him instantly, or he must
have fallen upright, and then the weight would have dragged him to the
bottom, where he remained--poor fellow!"

"Then you pity him?" said the count.

"Ma foi, yes; though he was in his own element."

"What do you mean?"

"The report was that he had been a naval officer, who had been confined
for plotting with the Bonapartists."

"Great is truth," muttered the count, "fire cannot burn, nor water drown
it! Thus the poor sailor lives in the recollection of those who narrate
his history; his terrible story is recited in the chimney-corner, and a
shudder is felt at the description of his transit th