The Count of Monte Cristo

until the day when God shall deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is summed up in these two words,—' Wait and hope.'—Your friend, "Edmond Dantes, Count of Monte Cristo."

I have always had more dread of a pen, a bottle of ink, and a sheet of paper, than of a sword or pistol."

"And how did this misfortune occur?" inquired the latter, resuming the interrupted conversation.

Days and weeks passed away, then months—Dantes still waited; he at first expected to be freed in a fortnight.

This fortnight expired, he decided that the inspector would do nothing until his return to Paris, and that he would not reach there until his circuit was finished, he therefore fixed three months; three months passed away, then six more

This note was in a different hand from the rest, which showed that it had been added since his confinement. The inspector could not contend against this accusation; he simply wrote,—"Nothing to be done."

30th July, 1816,

As the Inquisition rarely allowed its victims to be seen with their limbs distorted and their flesh lacerated by torture, so madness is always concealed in its cell, from whence, should it depart, it is conveyed to some gloomy hospital, where the doctor has no thought for man or mind in the mutilated being the jailer delivers to him. The very madness of the Abbe Faria, gone mad in prison, condemned him to perpetual captivity.

The inspector kept his word with Dantes; he examined the register, and found the following note concerning him:—

Edmond Dantes:

Violent Bonapartist; took an active part in the return from Elba.

That proves," returned the abbe, "that you are like those of Holy Writ, who having ears hear not, and having eyes see not."