of which the peculiar and nauseous smell penetrated even
behind the wall where Dantes was listening in horror. The
perspiration poured forth upon the young man's brow, and he
felt as if he should faint.

"You see, sir, he is really dead," said the doctor; "this
burn in the heel is decisive. The poor fool is cured of his
folly, and delivered from his captivity."

"Wasn't his name Faria?" inquired one of the officers who
accompanied the governor.

"Yes, sir; and, as he said, it was an ancient name. He was,
too, very learned, and rational enough on all points which
did not relate to his treasure; but on that, indeed, he was
intractable."

"It is the sort of malady which we call monomania," said the
doctor.

"You had never anything to complain of?" said the governor
to the jailer who had charge of the abbe.

"Never, sir," replied the jailer, "never; on the contrary,
he sometimes amused me very much by telling me stories. One
day, too, when my wife was ill, he gave me a prescription
which cured her."

"Ah, ah!" said the doctor, "I did not know that I had a
rival; but I hope, governor, that you will show him all