have
lowered it. And he sprang from the rock in order to inspect the base
on which it had formerly stood. He soon perceived that a slope had been
formed, and the rock had slid along this until it stopped at the spot
it now occupied. A large stone had served as a wedge; flints and pebbles
had been inserted around it, so as to conceal the orifice; this species
of masonry had been covered with earth, and grass and weeds had grown
there, moss had clung to the stones, myrtle-bushes had taken root, and
the old rock seemed fixed to the earth.

Dantes dug away the earth carefully, and detected, or fancied he
detected, the ingenious artifice. He attacked this wall, cemented by the
hand of time, with his pickaxe. After ten minutes' labor the wall gave
way, and a hole large enough to insert the arm was opened. Dantes
went and cut the strongest olive-tree he could find, stripped off its
branches, inserted it in the hole, and used it as a lever. But the rock
was too heavy, and too firmly wedged, to be moved by any one man, were
he Hercules himself. Dantes saw that he must attack the wedge. But
how? He cast his eyes around, and saw the horn full of powder which
his friend Jacopo had left him. He smiled; the infernal invention would
serve him for this purpose. With the aid of his pickaxe, Dantes, after
the manner of a labor-saving pioneer, dug a mine between the upper rock
and the one that supported it, filled it with powder, then made a match
by rolling his handkerchief in saltpetre. He lighted it and retired. The
explosion soon followed; the upper rock was lifted from its base by the
terrific force of the powder; the lower one flew into pieces; thousands
of insects escaped from the aperture Dantes had previously formed, and
a huge snake, like the guardian demon of the treasure, rolled himself
along in darkening coils, and disappeared.

Dantes approached the upper rock, which now, without any support, leaned
towards the sea. The intrepid treasure-seeker walked round it, and,
selecting the spot from whence it appeared most susceptible to attack,
placed his lever in one of the crevices, and strained every nerve to
move the mass. The rock, already shaken by the explosion, tottered
on its base. Dantes redoubled his efforts; he seemed like one of the
ancient Titans, who uprooted the mountains to hurl against the father
of the gods. The rock yielded, rolled over, bounded from point to point,
and finally disappeared in the ocean.

On th