The commissary took up an iron mallet and knocked thrice, every blow seeming to Dantes as if struck on his heart.

The door opened, the two gendarmes gently pushed him forward, and the door closed with a loud sound behind him.

The air he inhaled was no longer pure, but thick and mephitic,--he was in prison.

He was conducted to a tolerably neat chamber, but grated and barred, and its appearance, therefore, did not greatly alarm him; besides, the words of Villefort, who seemed to interest himself so much, resounded still in his ears like a promise of freedom.

It was four o'clock when Dantes was placed in this chamber.