Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18
The Treasure.

When Dantes returned next morning to the chamber of his
companion in captivity, he found Faria seated and looking
composed. In the ray of light which entered by the narrow
window of his cell, he held open in his left hand, of which
alone, it will be recollected, he retained the use, a sheet
of paper, which, from being constantly rolled into a small
compass, had the form of a cylinder, and was not easily kept
open. He did not speak, but showed the paper to Dantes.

"What is that?" he inquired.

"Look at it," said the abbe with a smile.

"I have looked at it with all possible attention," said
Dantes, "and I only see a half-burnt paper, on which are
traces of Gothic characters inscribed with a peculiar kind
of ink."

"This paper, my friend," said Faria, "I may now avow to you,
since I have the proof of your fidelity -- this paper is my
treasure, of which, from this day forth, one-half belongs to
you."

The sweat started forth on Dantes brow. Until this day and
for how long a time! -- he had refrained from talking of the
treasure, which had brought upon the abbe the accusation of
madness. With his instinctive delicacy Edmond had preferred
avoiding any touch on this painful chord, and Faria had been
equally silent. He had taken the silence of the old man for
a return to reason; and now these few words uttered by
Faria, after so painful a crisis, seemed to indicate a
serious relapse into mental alienation.

"Your treasure?" stammered Dantes. Faria smiled.

"Yes," said he. "You have, indeed, a noble nature, Edmond,
and I see by your paleness and agitation what is passing in
your heart at this moment. No, be assured, I am not mad.
This treasure exists, Dantes, and if I have not been allowed
to possess it, you will. Yes -- you. No one would listen or
believe me, because everyone thought me mad; but you, who
must know that I am not, listen to me, and believe me so
afterwards if you will."

"Alas," murmured Edmond to himself, "this is a terrible
relapse! There was only this blow wanting." Then he said
aloud, "My dear friend, your attack has, perhaps, fatigued
you; had you not better repose awhile? To-morrow, if you
will, I will hear your narrative; but to-day I wish to nurse
you carefully. Besides," he said, "a treasure is not a thing
we need hurry about."

"On the contrary, it is a matter of the utmost importance,
Edmond!" replied the old man. "Who knows if to-morrow, or
the next day after, the third attack may not come on? and
then must not all be over? Yes, indeed, I have often thought
with a bitter joy that these riches, which would make the
wealth of a dozen families, will be forever lost to