"We’ll see," the inspector said, visibly moved. Then to the warden, "This poor man has touched my heart. Show the evidence against him."
"Certainly, but you’ll find the charges are very serious."
"Sir," Dantès continued, "I know you can’t release directly, but you could advocate for , you could get a trial. That’s all I ask. Let know my cri and why I was condemned. This uncertainty is worse than any punishnt."
"Continue with the lights," the inspector ordered.
"Sir!" Dantès called out desperately. "I can hear in your voice that you have compassion! Please, at least tell I can hope!"
"I cannot promise that," the inspector replied. "I can only promise to investigate your case."
"Then I’m saved!" Dantès exclaid. "I’m as good as free!"
"Who arrested you?"
"Prosecutor Villefort. Speak with him, hear what he has to say."
"Villefort is no longer in Marseilles. He’s been transferred to Toulouse."
"No wonder I’m still here," Dantès murmured bitterly. "My only protector has been removed."
"Did Villefort have any personal grudge against you?"
"None at all. On the contrary, he was very kind to ."
"Then I can trust the notes he left about your case?"
"Completely."
"Good. Wait patiently, then."
Dantès fell to his knees in grateful prayer. The door closed behind them, but this ti sothing new remained with Dantès in his cell. Hope.
"Should we check the register now," the warden asked, "or visit the other prisoner first?"
"Let’s see them all," the inspector decided. "If I go back upstairs now, I’ll never have the courage to co down here again."
"This next one is quite different from the first. His madness is less heartbreaking than that man’s display of reason."
"What’s his particular delusion?"
"He believes he possesses an enormous treasure. In his first year, he offered the governnt one million francs for his release. The second year, two million. The third year, three million. He keeps increasing the amount. Now in his fifth year, he’ll probably offer you five million in private."
"Fascinating! What’s his na?"
"The Abbé Faria."
"Cell number 27," the inspector noted.
"Right here. Open it, Antoine."
The guard unlocked the door, and the inspector peered curiously into the mad priest’s chamber.
In the center of the cell, sitting within a circle drawn with a fragnt of plaster scraped from the wall, was a man in tattered rags that barely covered his body. He was drawing geotric patterns within the circle, completely absorbed in his work like so ancient mathematician working on the ultimate equation.
He didn’t look up when the door opened, continuing his calculations even as the torchlight suddenly illuminated the dark walls of his cell. Finally, raising his head, he was startled to see so many people present. He quickly grabbed his bed covering and wrapped it around himself.
"What do you want?" the inspector asked.
"I?" replied the priest with surprise. "I want nothing."
"You misunderstand," the inspector continued. "I’m here on governnt business to inspect the prison and hear prisoners’ requests."
"Ah, that’s different!" the priest exclaid. "Then we can certainly reach an understanding."
"There, you see," the warden whispered. "Just as I told you."
"Sir," the prisoner continued, "I am Abbé Faria, born in Ro. For twenty years I served as Cardinal Spada’s secretary. I was arrested, I don’t know why, soti around early 1811. Since then I’ve petitioned both the Italian and French governnts for my freedom."
"Why petition the French governnt?"
"Because I was arrested in Piombino, and I assu that like Milan and Florence, Piombino has beco the capital of so French administrative region."
"Ah," said the inspector, "you haven’t heard the recent news from Italy?"
"My information ends on the day of my arrest," replied Abbé Faria. "Since the emperor had created the Kingdom of Ro for his infant son, I assud he had realized the dream of great leaders like Machiavelli, to unite Italy into a single kingdom."
"Sir," the inspector replied, "providence has dramatically changed those grand plans you speak of so enthusiastically."
"It remains the only way to make Italy strong, prosperous, and independent."
"Perhaps, but I’m not here to discuss politics. I’m here to ask if you have any complaints or requests."
"The food is the sa as other prisons, terrible. The accommodations are unhealthy but tolerable for a dungeon. But that’s not what I want to discuss. I have a secret of the greatest importance to reveal."
"Here we go," the warden whispered.
"That’s exactly why I’m delighted to see you," the priest continued, "though you’ve interrupted a crucial calculation that, if successful, might revolutionize our understanding of physics itself. Could we speak privately for a few minutes?"
"What did I tell you?" the warden said.
"You know him well," the inspector smiled.
"What you ask is impossible," the inspector told Faria.
"But," said the priest, "I want to discuss a large sum of money, five million francs."
"The exact amount you predicted," the inspector whispered to the warden.
"However," Faria continued, seeing the inspector preparing to leave, "private conversation isn’t absolutely necessary. The warden can remain present."
"Unfortunately," the warden said, "I know exactly what you’re about to say. It concerns your treasure, doesn’t it?"
Faria fixed him with a stare that would have convinced anyone else of his complete sanity.
"Of course," he said. "What else would I discuss?"
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