The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 17. The Abbé’s Chamber-4

foot, he fell back, doubled up in one last convulsion, and became as

rigid as a corpse.

Edmond waited till life seemed extinct in the body of his friend, then,

taking up the knife, he with difficulty forced open the closely fixed

jaws, carefully administered the appointed number of drops, and

anxiously awaited the result. An hour passed away and the old man gave

no sign of returning animation. Dantès began to fear he had delayed too

long ere he administered the remedy, and, thrusting his hands into his

hair, continued gazing on the lifeless features of his friend. At length

a slight color tinged the livid cheeks, consciousness returned to the

dull, open eyeballs, a faint sigh issued from the lips, and the sufferer

made a feeble effort to move.

“He is saved! he is saved!” cried Dantès in a paroxysm of delight.

The sick man was not yet able to speak, but he pointed with evident

anxiety towards the door. Dantès listened, and plainly distinguished the

approaching steps of the jailer. It was therefore near seven o’clock;

but Edmond’s anxiety had put all thoughts of time out of his head.

The young man sprang to the entrance, darted through it, carefully

drawing the stone over the opening, and hurried to his cell. He had

scarcely done so before the door opened, and the jailer saw the prisoner

seated as usual on the side of his bed. Almost before the key had turned

in the lock, and before the departing steps of the jailer had died away

in the long corridor he had to traverse, Dantès, whose restless anxiety

concerning his friend left him no desire to touch the food brought him,

hurried back to the abbé’s chamber, and raising the stone by pressing

his head against it, was soon beside the sick man’s couch. Faria had now

fully regained his consciousness, but he still lay helpless and

exhausted on his miserable bed.

“I did not expect to see you again,” said he feebly, to Dantès.

“And why not?” asked the young man. “Did you fancy yourself dying?”

“No, I had no such idea; but, knowing that all was ready for flight, I

thought you might have made your escape.”

The deep glow of indignation suffused the cheeks of Dantès.

“Without you? Did you really think me capable of that?”

“At least,” said the abbé, “I now see how wrong such an opinion would

have been. Alas, alas! I am fearfully exhausted and debilitated by this

attack.”

“Be of good cheer,” replied Dantès; “your strength will return.” And as

he spoke he seated himself near the bed beside Faria, and took his

hands. The abbé shook his head.

“The last attack I had,” said he, “lasted but half an hour, and after it

I was hungry, and got up without help; now I can move neither my right

arm nor leg, and my head seems uncomfortable, which shows that there has

been a suffusion of blood on the brain. The third attack will either

carry me off, or leave me paralyzed for life.”

“No, no,” cried Dantès; “you are mistaken—you will not die! And your

third attack (if, indeed, you should have another) will find you at

liberty. We shall save you another time, as we have done this, only with

a better chance of success, because we shall be able to command every

requisite assistance.”

“My good Edmond,” answered the abbé, “be not deceived. The attack which

has just passed away, condemns me forever to the walls of a prison. None

can fly from a dungeon who cannot walk.”

“Well, we will wait,—a week, a month, two months, if need be,—and

meanwhile your strength will return. Everything is in readiness for our

flight, and we can select any time we choose. As soon as you feel able

to swim we will go.”

“I shall never swim again,” replied Faria. “This arm is paralyzed; not

for a time, but forever. Lift it, and judge if I am mistaken.”

The young man raised the arm, which fell back by its own weight,

perfectly inanimate and helpless. A sigh escaped him.

“You are convinced now, Edmond, are you not?” asked the abbé. “Depend

upon it, I know what I say. Since the first attack I experienced of this

malady, I have continually reflected on it. Indeed, I expected it, for

it is a family inheritance; both my father and grandfather died of it in

a third attack. The physician who prepared for me the remedy I have

twice successfully taken, was no other than the celebrated Cabanis, and

he predicted a similar end for me.”

“The physician may be mistaken!” exclaimed Dantès. “And as for your poor

arm, what difference will that make? I can take you on my shoulders, and

swim for both of us.”

“My son,” said the abbé, “you, who are a sailor and a swimmer, must know

as well as I do that a man so loaded would sink before he had done fifty

strokes. Cease, then, to allow yourself to be duped by vain hopes, that

even your own excellent heart refuses to believe in. Here I shall remain

till the hour of my deliverance arrives, and that, in all human

probability, will be the hour of my death. As for you, who are young and

active, delay not on my account, but fly—go—I give you back your

promise.”

“It is well,” said Dantès. “Then I shall also remain.” Then, rising and

extending his hand with an air of solemnity over the old man’s head, he

slowly added, “By the blood of Christ I swear never to leave you while

you live.”

Faria gazed fondly on his noble-minded, single-hearted, high-principled

young friend, and read in his countenance ample confirmation of the

sincerity of his devotion and the loyalty of his purpose.

“Thanks,” murmured the invalid, extending one hand. “I accept. You may

one of these days reap the reward of your disinterested devotion. But as

I cannot, and you will not, quit this place, it becomes necessary to

fill up the excavation beneath the soldier’s gallery; he might, by

chance, hear the hollow sound of his footsteps, and call the attention

of his officer to the circumstance. That would bring about a discovery

which would inevitably lead to our being separated. Go, then, and set

about this work, in which, unhappily, I can offer you no assistance;

keep at it all night, if necessary, and do not return here tomorrow till

after the jailer has visited me. I shall have something of the greatest

importance to communicate to you.”

Dantès took the hand of the abbé in his, and affectionately pressed it.

Faria smiled encouragingly on him, and the young man retired to his

task, in the spirit of obedience and respect which he had sworn to show

towards his aged friend.