It was six o’clock in the morning. Dawn was just breaking, its weak light filtering into the cell and making their lamp seem even more pathetic. Strange shadows played across the dead man’s face, sometimes giving the illusion of life. While the struggle between day and night continued, Edmond still held onto hope. But once daylight won, he knew he was alone with a corpse.
Then overwhelming terror seized him. He couldn’t bring himself to touch the hand hanging off the bed or look into those fixed, empty eyes. He’d tried several times to close them, but they kept opening again. He extinguished the lamp, hid it carefully, and left, sealing the entrance to the secret passage as best he could with the large stone.
It was perfect timing, the jailer was coming. Today he started his rounds at Edmond’s cell first, then went to Faria’s with breakfast and clean linens. Nothing in his manner suggested he knew what had happened.
Edmond felt an overwhelming need to know what was happening in his friend’s cell. He returned through the underground passage and arrived just in time to hear the guard’s shocked exclamations as he called for help. Other guards came running, followed by the heavy footsteps of soldiers, and finally the prison warden.
Edmond heard the bed creak as they moved the corpse, heard the warden order them to splash water on the dead man’s face. When that didn’t revive the prisoner, they sent for the doctor. The warden left, and Edmond caught fragments of conversation, some pitying, some brutally mocking.
"Well, well," said one guard, "the madman’s gone to look for his treasure. Have a good trip!"
"With all his millions, he won’t have enough to pay for his burial shroud!" said another. This text is hosted at NoveI-Fire.ɴet
"Oh," added a third voice, "burial shrouds here aren’t expensive!"
"Maybe since he was a priest, they’ll spend a little extra on him," suggested one of the earlier speakers.
"They might give him the honor of a canvas sack."
Edmond caught every word but understood very little. The voices faded away, and it seemed everyone had left the cell. Still, he didn’t dare enter, they might have left someone to watch the body. He remained perfectly still, barely breathing.
After an hour, he heard faint sounds that grew louder. The warden had returned with the doctor and other attendants. There was a moment of silence as the doctor examined the corpse, then questions and answers began in a casual manner that made Edmond furious. He felt the whole world should love and respect the poor priest as much as he did.
"I’m sorry to hear your confirmation that the old man is really dead," the warden said to the doctor. "He was a quiet, harmless prisoner, content in his delusions, and required no special supervision."
"Ah," added a guard, "there was no need to watch him. He would have stayed here fifty years without trying to escape, I guarantee it."
"Still," said the warden, "despite your certainty, and I don’t doubt your expertise, I need to fulfill my official duties. We must be absolutely sure the prisoner is dead."
Complete silence followed as the doctor examined the corpse a second time.
"You can rest easy," the doctor announced. "He’s dead. I’ll stake my reputation on it."
"You understand, doctor," the warden persisted, "that in cases , a simple examination isn’t enough. Despite all appearances, please complete the legal formalities as required by law."
"Heat the irons," the doctor ordered, "though it’s really unnecessary."
The mention of heated irons made Edmond shudder. He heard hurried footsteps, a door creaking, people coming and going. Minutes later, a guard entered saying, "Here’s the brazier, lit and ready."
A moment of silence, then the horrible crackling sound of burning flesh. The distinctive, nauseating smell penetrated even through the wall where Edmond listened in horror. Sweat poured down the young man’s face, and he felt like he might faint.
"You see, sir, he’s definitely dead," the doctor confirmed. "This burn on the heel is conclusive. The poor fool is cured of his madness and freed from his captivity."
"Wasn’t his name Faria?" asked one of the officers with the warden.
"Yes, sir. As he claimed, it was an ancient name. He was very learned and rational about everything except his treasure obsession. On that subject, he was completely unreasonable."
"It’s a type of mental illness we call monomania," the doctor explained.
"Did you ever have complaints about him?" the warden asked the guard responsible for the priest.
"Never, sir," the guard replied. "On the contrary, he sometimes entertained me with stories. Once when my wife was sick, he gave me a prescription that cured her."
"Ah!" said the doctor. "I didn’t know I had competition. But I trust, warden, that you’ll show him proper respect."
"Of course. Don’t worry, he’ll be decently buried in the newest sack we can find. Will that satisfy you?"
"Does this final procedure need to be done in your presence, sir?" a guard asked.
"Absolutely. But hurry up, I can’t stay here all day."
More footsteps echoed, and soon Edmond heard the rustling of canvas, the bed creaking, and the heavy footsteps of men lifting a weight. Then the bed creaked again under the weight placed on it.
"Tonight," the warden announced.
"Will there be a funeral mass?" asked one attendant.
"Impossible," the warden replied. "The prison chaplain asked me yesterday for a week’s leave to visit Hyères. I told him I’d handle prisoner duties while he’s gone. If the poor priest hadn’t been in such a hurry to die, he might have gotten his last rites."
"Bah!" said the doctor with the typical irreverence of his profession. "He was a man of God. The Almighty will respect his service and won’t give the devil the satisfaction of sending him a priest."
Brutal laughter followed this crude joke. Meanwhile, they continued wrapping the body.
"Tonight," the warden repeated when the task was finished.
"What time?" asked a guard.
"Around ten or eleven o’clock."
"Should we keep watch over the corpse?"
"What’s the point? Just lock the cell as if he were still alive, that’s all."
The footsteps retreated, voices faded in the distance, and the sounds of the creaking door with its hinges and bolts ceased. A silence more complete than solitude settled over everything, the silence of death, all-encompassing and chilling Edmond to his very soul.
Carefully, he lifted the stone slab with his head and looked around the chamber. It was empty. Edmond emerged from the tunnel, alone with his grief and the terrible knowledge of what was to come.