seek out a young girl named Mercédès, at the Catalans, and give her a letter — no, not even a letter; just two lines from me."
"If I took them, and were detected, I should lose my place, which is worth two thousand francs a year; so that I should be a great fool to run such a risk for three hundred."
"Well," said Dantès, "mark this: If you refuse to tell the governor that I wish to speak with him; if you refuse at least to tell Mercédès I am here, I will some day hide myself behind the door, and when you enter I will dash out your brains with this stool."
"Threats!" cried the jailer, retreating and putting himself on the defensive; "you are certainly going mad. The abbé began like you, and in three days you will want a strait-waistcoat; but, fortunately, there are dungeons here."
Dantès whirled the stool round his head.
"Oh!" said the jailer, "you shall see the governor at once."
"That is right," returned Dantes, dropping the stool and sitting on it as if he were in reality mad.
The jailer went out, and returned in an instant with a corporal and four soldiers.
"By the governor's orders," said he, "conduct the prisoner to the story beneath."
"To the dungeon, then," said the corporal.
"Yes; we must put the madman with the madmen."
The soldiers seized Dantès, who followed passively. He descended fifteen steps, and the door of a dungeon was opened, and he entered, murmuring, "He is right; the madman with the madmen!" The door closed, and Dantès advanced with outstretched hands until he touched the wall; he then sat down in the corner until his eyes became accustomed to the darkness. The jailer was right; Dantès wanted but little of being utterly mad.
