CHAPTER XVII
THE ABBE'S CHAMBER
FTER having passed, in a stooping position but with tolerable ease, through the subterranean passage, the two friends reached the farther end of the corridor, into which the cell of the abbé opened; from that point the opening became much narrower, barely permitting a man to creep through on his hands and knees. The floor of the abbé's cell was paved, and it had been by raising one of the stones in the most obscure corner that Faria had been able to commence the laborious task of which Dantès had witnessed the completion.
As he entered the chamber of his friend, Dantès cast around a searching glance, but nothing more than common met his view.
"It is well," said the abbé; "we have some hours before us — it is now just a quarter past twelve o'clock."
Instinctively Dantès turned round to observe by what watch or clock the abbé had been able so accurately to specify the hour.
"Look at this ray of light which enters by my window," said the abbé, "and then observe the lines traced on the wall. Well, by means of these lines, which are in accordance with the double motion of the earth, as well as the ellipse it describes round the sun, I am enabled to ascertain the precise hour with more minuteness than if I possessed a watch; for that might go wrong, while the sun and earth never vary."
This last explanation was wholly lost upon Dantès, who had always imagined, from seeing the sun rise from behind the mountains and set in the Mediterranean, that it moved, and not the earth. A double movement in the globe he inhabited, and of which he could feel nothing, appeared to him perfectly impossible; still, each word that fell from his lips seemed fraught with the wonders of science, as admirably deserving of being brought fully to light as the mines of gold and diamonds he
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