ON THE BED, at full length, and faintly illuminated by the pale light that came from the window, lay a sack of canvas, and under its rude folds was stretched a long and stiffened form; it was Faria's last winding-sheet,--a winding-sheet which, as the turnkey said, cost so little. Everything was in readiness. A barrier had been placed between Dantès and his old friend. No longer could Edmond look into those wide-open eyes which had seemed to be penetrating the mysteries of death; no longer could he clasp the hand which had done so much to make his existence blessed. Faria, the beneficent and cheerful companion, with whom he was accustomed to live so intimately, no longer breathed. He seated himself on the edge of that terrible bed, and fell into melancholy and gloomy revery.

Alone--he was alone again--again condemned to silence--again face to face with nothingness! Alone!--never again to see the face, never again to hear the voice of the only human being who united him to earth! Was not Faria's fate the better, after all--to solve the problem of life at its source, even at the risk of horrible suffering? The idea of suicide, which his friend had driven away and kept away by his cheerful presence, now hovered like a phantom over the abbé's dead body.

"If I could die," he said, "I should go where he goes, and should assuredly find him again. But how to die? It is very easy," he went on with a smile; "I will remain here, rush on the first person that opens the door, strangle him, and then they will guillotine me." But excessive grief is like a storm at sea, where the frail bark is tossed from the depths to the top of the wave. Dantès recoiled from the idea of so infamous a death, and passed suddenly from despair to an ardent desire for life and liberty.

"Die? oh, no," he exclaimed--"not die now, after having lived and suffered so long and so much! Die? yes, had I died years ago; but now to die would be, indeed, to give way to the sarcasm of destiny. No, I want to live; I shall struggle to the very last; I will yet win back the happiness of which I have been deprived. Before I die I must not forget that I have my executioners to punish, and perhaps, too, who knows, some friends to reward. Yet they will forget me here, and I shall die in my dungeon like Faria." As he said this, he became silent and gazed straight before him like one overwhelmed with a strange and amazing thought. Suddenly he arose, lifted his hand to his brow as if his brain wore giddy, paced twice or thrice round the dungeon, and then paused abruptly by the bed.

"Just God!" he muttered, "whence comes this thought? Is it from thee? Since none but the dead pass freely from this dungeon, let me take the place of the dead!" Without giving himself time to reconsider his decision, and, indeed, that he might not allow his thoughts to be distracted from his desperate resolution, he bent over the appalling shroud, opened it with the knife which Faria had made, drew the corpse from the sack, and bore it along the tunnel to his own chamber, laid it on his couch, tied around its head the rag he wore at night around his own, covered it with his counterpane, once again kissed the ice-cold brow, and tried vainly to close the resisting eyes, which glared horribly, turned the head towards the wall, so that the jailer might, when he brought the evening meal, believe that he was asleep, as was his frequent custom; entered the tunnel again, drew the bed against the wall, returned to the other cell, took from the hiding-place the needle and thread, flung off his rags, that they might feel only naked flesh beneath the coarse canvas, and getting inside the sack, placed himself in the posture in which the dead body had been laid, and sewed up the mouth of the sack from the inside.

He would have been discovered by the beating of his heart, if by any mischance the jailers had entered at that moment. Dantès might have waited until the evening visit was over, but he was afraid that the governor would change his mind, and order the dead body to be removed earlier. In that case his last hope would have been destroyed. Now his plans were fully made, and this is what he intended to do. If while he was being carried out the grave-diggers should discover that they were bearing a live instead of a dead body, Dantès did not intend to give them time to recognize him, but with a sudden cut of the knife, he meant to open the sack from top to bottom, and, profiting by their alarm, escape; if they tried to catch him, he would use his knife to better purpose.

If they took him to the cemetery and laid him in a grave, he would allow himself to be covered with earth, and then, as it was night, the grave-diggers could scarcely have turned their backs before he would have worked his way through the yielding soil and escaped. He hoped that the weight of earth would not be so great that he could not overcome it. If he was detected in this and the earth proved too heavy, he would be stifled, and then--so much the better, all would be over. Dantès had not eaten since the preceding evening, but he had not thought of hunger, nor did he think of it now. His situation was too precarious to allow him even time to reflect on any thought but one.

The first risk that Dantès ran was, that the jailer, when he brought him his supper at seven o'clock, might perceive the change that had been made; fortunately, twenty times at least, from misanthropy or fatigue, Dantès had received his jailer in bed, and then the man placed his bread and soup on the table, and went away without saying a word. This time the jailer might not be as silent as usual, but speak to Dantès, and seeing that he received no reply, go to the bed, and thus discover all.

When seven o'clock came, Dantès' agony really began. His hand placed upon his heart was unable to redress its throbbings, while, with the other he wiped the perspiration from his temples. From time to time chills ran through his whole body, and clutched his heart in a grasp of ice. Then he thought he was going to die. Yet the hours passed on without any unusual disturbance, and Dantès knew that he had escaped the first peril. It was a good augury. At length, about the hour the governor had appointed, footsteps were heard on the stairs. Edmond felt that the moment had arrived, summoned up all his courage, held his breath, and would have been happy if at the same time he could have repressed the throbbing of his veins. The footsteps--they were double--paused at the door--and Dantès guessed that the two grave-diggers had come to seek him--this idea was soon converted into certainty, when he heard the noise they made in putting down the hand-bier. The door opened, and a dim light reached Dantès' eyes through the coarse sack that covered him; he saw two shadows approach his bed, a third remaining at the door with a torch in its hand. The two men, approaching the ends of the bed, took the sack by its extremities.

"He's heavy though for an old and thin man," said one, as he raised the head.

"They say every year adds half a pound to the weight of the bones," said another, lifting the feet.

"Have you tied the knot?" inquired the first speaker.

"What would be the use of carrying so much more weight?" was the reply, "I can do that when we get there."

"Yes, you're right," replied the companion.

"What's the knot for?" thought Dantès.

They deposited the supposed corpse on the bier. Edmond stiffened himself in order to play the part of a dead man, and then the party, lighted by the man with the torch, who went first, ascended the stairs. Suddenly he felt the fresh and sharp night air, and Dantès knew that the mistral was blowing. It was a sensation in which pleasure and pain were strangely mingled. The bearers went on for twenty paces, then stopped, putting the bier down on the ground. One of them went away, and Dantès heard his shoes striking on the pavement.

"Where am I?" he asked himself.

"Really, he is by no means a light load!" said the other bearer, sitting on the edge of the hand-barrow. Dantès' first impulse was to escape, but fortunately he did not attempt it.

"Give us a light," said the other bearer, "or I shall never find what I am looking for." The man with the torch complied, although not asked in the most polite terms.

"What can he be looking for?" thought Edmond. "The spade, perhaps." An exclamation of satisfaction indicated that the grave-digger had found the object of his search. "Here it is at last," he said, "not without some trouble though."

"Yes," was the answer, "but it has lost nothing by waiting."

As he said this, the man came towards Edmond, who heard a heavy metallic substance laid down beside him, and at the same moment a cord was fastened round his feet with sudden and painful violence.

"Well, have you tied the knot?" inquired the grave-digger, who was looking on.

"Yes, and pretty tight too, I can tell you," was the answer.

"Move on, then." And the bier was lifted once more, and they proceeded.

They advanced fifty paces farther, and then stopped to open a door, then went forward again. The noise of the waves dashing against the rocks on which the Chateau is built, reached Dantès' ear distinctly as they went forward.

"Bad weather!" observed one of the bearers; "not a pleasant night for a dip in the sea."

"Why, yes, the abbé runs a chance of being wet," said the other; and then there was a burst of brutal laughter. Dantès did not comprehend the jest, but his hair stood erect on his head.

"Well, here we are at last," said one of them. "A little farther--a little farther," said the other. "You know very well that the last was stopped on his way, dashed on the rocks, and the governor told us next day that we were careless fellows."

They ascended five or six more steps, and then Dantès felt that they took him, one by the head and the other by the heels, and swung him to and fro. "One!" said the grave-diggers, "two! three!" And at the same instant Dantès felt himself flung into the air like a wounded bird, falling, falling, with a rapidity that made his blood curdle. Although drawn downwards by the heavy weight which hastened his rapid descent, it seemed to him as if the fall lasted for a century.

At last, with a horrible splash, he darted like an arrow into the ice-cold water, and as he did so he uttered a shrill cry, stifled in a moment by his immersion beneath the waves.

Dantès had been flung into the sea, and was dragged into its depths by a thirty-six pound shot tied to his feet. The sea is the cemetery of the Chateau d'If.

借着从窗口透进来的一线苍白微弱的光线，可以看到床上有一只平放着的粗布口袋，在这个大口袋里，直挺挺地躺着一个长而僵硬的东西。这个口袋就是法利亚裹尸布，正如狱卒所说的，这的确不值几个钱。就这样一切都结束了。在唐太斯和他的老朋友之间，已有了一重物质的分离。他再也看不到那一双睁得大大的，仿佛死后仍能看见的眼睛了；他再也不能紧握那只曾为他揭开事实真相的灵巧的手了。法利亚，这位与他曾长期亲密相处的有用的好伙伴，已不再呼吸了。他在那张可拍的床上坐了下来，陷入了一种忧郁，迷悯的状态之中。

孤零零的！他又孤零零的一个人了，他觉得自己重又陷入了孤寂之中！再也看不到那个唯一使他对生命尚有所留恋的人了，再也听不到他的声音了！他还不如也象法利亚那样，不惜通过那道痛苦的死亡之门，去向上帝追问人生之谜的意义呢？自杀的念头，曾一度被他的朋友从他的思想中逐出，神甫活着的时候，他的面前，唐太斯便不去想这事了，现在当着他的尸体，那个念头又象个幽灵似的在他面前出现了。“假如我死了，”他说，“我就可以到他所去的地方，一定可以找到他。但怎么个死法呢？这倒不难，”他痛苦地笑着继续说道，“我只要呆在这儿，谁第一个来开门，我就向他冲上去，掐死他，这样他们就会把我绞死的。”

人在极度悲痛之中，犹如在大风暴里是一样，两个高峰之间必是形成低谷，唐太斯这时也从这种自暴自弃的念头前退了回来，突然从绝望转变成了一种强烈的求生和自由的愿望。

“死！噢，不！”他喊道，“现在还不能死，你已经活了这么久，受这么长时间的苦！几年前，当我存心想死的时候去死了，或许还好些，但现在这样去做，就等于自己屈服了，承认自己的苦命了。不，我要活，我要斗争到底，我要重新去获得被剥夺了的幸福。我不能死，在死以前，我还有几个仇人要去惩罚，谁知道呢，也许还有几个朋友要报答呢。眼下，他们要把我忘在这里，我只能象法利亚一样离开我的地牢了。说到这里，他愣住了，坐在那儿一动不动，眼睛一眨不眨，好象突然有了一个极其惊人的想法。突然，他猛地站起身来，用手扶住额头，象是头晕似的。他在房间里转两三圈，又在床前站住了、”啊！啊！

“他自言自语地说，”是谁使我有这个想法的？是您吗，慈悲的上帝？既然只有死人才能自由地从这里出去那就让我来装死吧！”

他不容自己有片刻时间来考虑这个，因为如果他仔细去想的话，他这种决心也许会动摇的。他弯身凑到那个可拍的布袋面前，用法利亚制造的小刀将它割开，把尸体从口袋里拖出来，再把它背到自己的地牢里，把它放在自己的床上，把自己平常戴的破帽子戴在他头上，最后吻了一次那冰冷的额头，几次徒劳地试着合上仍然睁着的眼睛，把他的脸面向墙壁，这样，当狱卒送晚餐来的时候，会以为他已经睡着了，这也是常事，然后他又返回地道，把床拖过来靠住墙壁，回到那间牢房里从贮藏处拿出针线，脱掉他身上破烂的衣衫，以便使他们一摸就知道粗糙的口袋里的确是裸体的尸身，然后他钻进了口袋里，按尸体原来的位置躺下又从里面把袋口缝了起来。

假如不巧狱卒此时进来，或许会听到他心跳的声音。他本来可以等到晚上七点钟的，那次查看过后再这样做的，但他怕监狱长改变临时决定，提前把尸体搬走，这样的话，他最后的希望也就破灭了。现在，不管怎样，他决心已定，希望此举能成功。假如在搬运的途中，被掘墓人发觉他们所抬的不是一具尸体而是一个活人，唐太斯则不等人们回过神来，就用小刀把口袋从头到底划破，乘他们惊惶失措的时候逃走。如他们想来捉他，他就要动用刀子了。假如他们把他扛到了坟场，把他放进了坟墓里，他就让他们在他的身上盖土，因为夜里，只要那掘墓人一转身，他就可以从那松软的泥土里爬出来逃走。他希望所盖的泥土不要太重，使他受不了。假如不幸，那泥土太重的话，他就会被压在里面，不过那样也好，也可一了百了。唐太斯从昨天晚上起就不曾吃过东西，也不觉得饥渴，他现在也没此感觉。他现在的处境太危险了，不容他有时间去想别的事。

唐太斯遇到的第一个危险就是：当狱卒在七点钟给他送晚餐来的时候，也许会发觉他的掉包计。幸而，以往有二十多次，为了怕麻烦或是因为疲倦，唐太斯曾这样躺在床上等狱卒来的。每当这时，狱卒就把他的面包和汤放在桌子上，然后一言不发的走了。这次，狱卒或许不会象往常那样沉默，他或许会同唐太斯讲话，而当看到他不回答时，或许会走到床边去看看，这样可就全露馅了。

七点钟来临的时候，唐太斯那颗紧张的心也提到了嗓子眼。他把一只手按在心上，想压住它的剧跳，另一只手则不断地去擦额头上的冷汗。他不时地浑身打颤，心在紧缩着，象是被一只冰冷的手抓住了似的。此时，他觉得自己快要死了。可是，一小时一小时过去了，监狱里毫无动静，唐太斯知道他已逃过了第一关，这是一个好兆头。终于，大约就是监狱长指定的那个时间，楼梯上响起了脚步声。爱德蒙知道关键的时刻到了，他鼓起全部的勇气，屏住呼吸，他真希望能同时屏住脉搏急促的跳动。

脚步在门口停了下来。那是两个人的脚步声，唐太斯猜测这是两个掘墓人来抬他了。这个猜测不久便被证实了。因为听到了他们放担架时所发出的声音。门开了，唐太斯的眼睛透过粗布看到了隐隐约约的亮光。他看到两个黑影朝他的床边走过来，还有一个人留在门口，手里举着火把。这两个人分别走到床的两头，各人扛起布袋的一端。

“这个瘦老头子还挺重的呢，”抬头的那个人说道。

“据说人的骨头每年要增加半磅哩。”另外那个抬脚的人说。

“你绑上了没有？”第一个讲话的人问道。

“何必增加这么多重量呢？”那一个回答说，“我们到了那儿再绑好啦。”

“对，你说得对。”他的同伴回答道。

“干吗要捆绑呢？”唐太斯暗自问道。

他们把所谓的死人放到了担架上。爱德蒙为了装得象个死人，故意把自己挺得硬棒棒地，于是由那举火把的人引路，这一队人就开始走上楼梯。突然间，唐太斯呼吸到了夜晚新鲜寒冷的空气，他知道这是海湾边冷燥的西北风。这种突然的感触，真使他悲喜交集，抬担架者向前走了二十多步，就停了下来，把担架放在地上。其中的一个走开了，唐太斯听到了他的皮鞋在石板道上响声。

“我到哪儿了？”他自问道。

“真的，他可真是不轻呵！”站在唐太斯旁边的那个人边说边在担架边上坐了下来。唐太斯的第一个冲动就是想逃走，但幸而他克制住了。

“照着我，畜生，”那个人又说，“不然我就看不到要找的东西啦。”举火把的那个人听从了他，尽管对主说话的口吻不太客气。

“他在找什么？”爱德蒙想。“或许是铲子吧。”

一声满意的叫喊声表示那掘墓人已找到了他要找的东西。“在这儿，”他说，“真不容易。”

“对呀，”另一个回答说，“就是多等一会儿也不费你什么的。”

说完，那人向爱德蒙走来，后者听到他的身旁放下了一件很重很结实的东西，同时他的两脚突然被使劲地绑上了一条绳子。

“喂，你绑好了没有？”旁观的那个掘墓人问道。

“绑好啦，很紧呢。”那一个回答道。

“那么走吧。”于是担架又被抬了起来，他们继续向前走去。又走了五十多步的路，便停下来去开门，然后又向前走去。

在他们走着的时候，波涛冲激成堡下岩石所发出的声音清晰地传到了唐太斯的耳朵里。

“这鬼天气！”其中的一个说道，“今夜里泡在海里可是滋味。”

“是啊，神甫可要浑身湿个透啦。”另一个说，接着就一声大笑。唐太斯不大懂他们开这个玩笑是什么意思，他直觉得头发都竖起来了。

“好，我们总算到啦。”他们之中的一个说道。

“走远一点！走远一点！”另外那一个说。“你知道上一个就在这儿停的，结果撞到岩石上，躺在了半山腰里，第二天，监狱长怪我们都是些偷懒的家伙。

他们又向上走了五六步，然后唐太斯觉得他们把他抬起来了，一个抬头，一个抬脚，把他荡来荡去。”一！“两个掘墓人一齐喊道，“二！三，走吧！”接着，唐太斯就觉得自己被抛入了空中，象只受伤的鸟穿过空气层，然后直往下掉，以一种几乎使他的血液凝固的速度往下掉。有重物拖着他，加快了他下降的速度，但他仍觉着下落的时间似乎持续了一百年。终于，随着可怕的一声巨响，他掉进了冰冷的海水里，当他落入水中的时候，他不禁发出了一声尖锐的惊叫，但那声喊叫立刻被淹没有浪花里了。

唐太斯被抛进了海里，他的脚上绑着一个三十六磅重的铁球，正把他拖向海底深处。大海就是伊夫堡的坟场。