ing seemed like
the continuation of some disagreeable dream. But in such a situation
a single moment suffices to change the strongest doubt into certainty.
"Yes, yes," he murmured, "I am in the hands of the brigands of whom
Albert de Morcerf spoke." His first idea was to breathe, that he might
know whether he was wounded. He borrowed this from "Don Quixote," the
only book he had ever read, but which he still slightly remembered.

"No," he cried, "they have not wounded, but perhaps they have robbed
me!" and he thrust his hands into his pockets. They were untouched; the
hundred louis he had reserved for his journey from Rome to Venice were
in his trousers pocket, and in that of his great-coat he found the
little note-case containing his letter of credit for 5,050,000 francs.
"Singular bandits!" he exclaimed; "they have left me my purse and
pocket-book. As I was saying last night, they intend me to be ransomed.
Hallo, here is my watch! Let me see what time it is." Danglars' watch,
one of Breguet's repeaters, which he had carefully wound up on the
previous night, struck half past five. Without this, Danglars would have
been quite ignorant of the time, for daylight did not reach his cell.
Should he demand an explanation from the bandits, or should he wait
patiently for them to propose it? The last alternative seemed the most
prudent, so he waited until twelve o'clock. During all this time a
sentinel, who had been relieved at eight o'clock, had been watching his
door. Danglars suddenly felt a strong inclination to see the person who
kept watch over him. He had noticed that a few rays, not of daylight,
but from a lamp, penetrated through the ill-joined planks of the door;
he approached just as the brigand was refreshing himself with a mouthful
of brandy, which, owing to the leathern bottle containing it, sent
forth an odor which was extremely unpleasant to Danglars. "Faugh!" he
exclaimed, retreating to the farther corner of his cell.

At twelve this man was replaced by another functionary, and Danglars,
wishing to catch sight of his new guardian, approached the door again.
He was an athletic, gigantic bandit, with large eyes, thick lips, and
a flat nose; his red hair fell in dishevelled masses like snakes around
his shoulders. "Ah, ha," cried Danglars, "this fellow is more like an
ogre than anything else; however, I am rather too old and tough to be
very good eating!" We see that Danglars was collected enough to jest; at
the