prisoner. If there had been no bolt, it would have been impossible
for him to pass through the midst of the garrison who held the
catacombs of St. Sebastian, encamped round a master whom our
readers must have recognized as the famous Luigi Vampa. Danglars,
too, had recognized the bandit, whose existence he would not
believe when Albert de Morcerf mentioned him in Paris; and not only
did he recognize him, but the cell in which Albert had been
confined, and which was probably kept for the accommodation of
strangers. These recollections were dwelt upon with some pleasure
by Danglars, and restored him to some degree of tranquillity. Since
the bandits had not despatched him at once, he felt that they would
not kill him at all. They had arrested him for the purpose of
robbery, and as he had only a few louis about him, he doubted not
he would be ransomed. He remembered that Morcerf had been taxed at
4,000 crowns, and as he considered himself of much greater
importance than Morcerf he fixed his own price at 8,000 crowns.
Eight thousand crowns amounted to 48,000 livres; he would then have
about 5,050,000 francs left. With this sum he could manage to keep
out of difficulties. Therefore, tolerably secure in being able to
extricate himself from his position, provided he were not rated at
the unreasonable sum of 5,050,000 francs, he stretched himself on
his bed, and after turning over two or three times, fell asleep
with the tranquillity of the hero whose life Luigi Vampa was
studying.We awake from every sleep except the one dreaded by Danglars. He
awoke. To a Parisian accustomed to silken curtains, walls hung with
velvet drapery, and the soft perfume of burning wood, the white
smoke of which diffuses itself in graceful curves around the room,
the appearance of the whitewashed cell which greeted his eyes on
awakening 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 therays, 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 same time, as though
to disprove the ogreish propensities, the man took some black
bread, cheese, and onions from his wallet, which he began devouring
voraciously. "May I be hanged," said Danglars, glancing at the
bandit's dinner through the crevices of the door, — "may I be
hanged if I can understand how people can eat such filth!" and he
withdrew to seat himself upon his goat-skin, which reminded him of
the smell of the brandy.
But the mysteries of nature are incomprehensible, and there are
certain invitations contained in even the coarsest food which
appeal very irresistibly to a fasting stomach. Danglars felt his
own not to be very well supplied just then, and gradually the man
appeared less ugly, the bread less black, and the cheese more
fresh, while those dreadful vulgar onions recalled to his mind
certain sauces and side-dishes, which his cook prepared in a very
superior manner whenever he said, "Monsieur Deniseau, let me have a
nice little fricassee to-day." He got up and knocked on the door;
the bandit raised his head. Danglars knew that he was heard, so he
redoubled his blows. "Che cosa?" asked the bandit. "Come, come,"