repressed the throbbing of his veins. The footsteps -- they
were double -- paused at the door -- and Dantes 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 Dantes' 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 Dantes.

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