ntered.

For a week since he had resolved to die, and during the four days that
he had been carrying out his purpose, Edmond had not spoken to the
attendant, had not answered him when he inquired what was the matter
with him, and turned his face to the wall when he looked too curiously
at him; but now the jailer might hear the noise and put an end to
it, and so destroy a ray of something like hope that soothed his last
moments.

The jailer brought him his breakfast. Dantes raised himself up and began
to talk about everything; about the bad quality of the food, about the
coldness of his dungeon, grumbling and complaining, in order to have an
excuse for speaking louder, and wearying the patience of his jailer,
who out of kindness of heart had brought broth and white bread for his
prisoner.

Fortunately, he fancied that Dantes was delirious; and placing the food
on the rickety table, he withdrew. Edmond listened, and the sound became
more and more distinct.

"There can be no doubt about it," thought he; "it is some prisoner who
is striving to obtain his freedom. Oh, if I were only there to help
him!" Suddenly another idea took possession of his mind, so used to
misfortune, that it was scarcely capable of hope--the idea that the
noise was made by workmen the governor had ordered to repair the
neighboring dungeon.

It was easy to ascertain this; but how could he risk the question? It
was easy to call his jailer's attention to the noise, and watch his
countenance as he listened; but might he not by this means destroy
hopes far more important than the short-lived satisfaction of his own
curiosity? Unfortunately, Edmond's brain was still so feeble that he
could not bend his thoughts to anything in particular.

He saw but one means of restoring lucidity and clearness to his
judgment. He turned his eyes towards the soup which the jailer had
brought, rose, staggered towards it, raised the vessel to his lips, and
drank off the contents with a feeling of indescribable pleasure. He had
often heard that shipwrecked persons had died through having eagerly
devoured too much food. Edmond replaced on the table the bread he was
about to devour, and returned to his couch--he did not wish to die. He
soon felt that his ideas became again collected--he could think, and
strengthen his thoughts by reasoning. Then he said to himself, "I must
put this to the test, but without compromising anybody. If it is a
workman, I need but knock again