Of one thing only am I certain.

That it is no use making my ideas known to the Count.

He knows well that I am imprisoned, and as he has done it himself, and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only deceive me if I trusted him fully with the facts.

So far as I can see, my only plan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes open.

I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my own fears, or else I am in desperate straits, and if the latter be so, I need, and shall need, all my brains to get through.
I had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the great door below shut, and knew that the Count had returned.