But now he was not suffered to have a moment's peace.
Monte Cristo had already been sitting in his dungeon for some time when Madame Langai's carriage returned from the theatre.

Then Mr.Demetrius rang up the porters to inquire whether Mr.John had also returned home.
No, was the answer.

At eleven o'clock Mr.John had still not returned.
Meanwhile Monte Cristo's neighbour had traced the figure on the floor of the dungeon.

Mr.Demetrius here demanded a fuller explanation of the circumstances.

"How was that, Margari ?" he enquired.
"I humbly beg your honour's pardon, but I don't understand." "Very well, proceed!" Every time a door below was opened or shut, Mr.Demetrius rang up the porter to enquire whether Mr.John had come in, to the intense aggravation of the porter, who appeared in the door of the saloon with a surlier expression and his hair more and more ruffled on each occasion, inwardly cursing the fool of a student who had not even wit enough to send an old man asleep, and envying the other servants who at least were able to sleep at night without interruption.
And still Margari went on reading.
By this time Monte Cristo had had himself sewn up in a sack and flung into the sea as a corpse.
"Would you have dared to have that done to you, Margari ?" interrupted Mr.Demetrius.
"If I had a lot of money I might, begging your honour's pardon, but a poor devil like me is only too glad to live at any price," replied Margari, whose answer naturally had no relation whatever to the text, not a word of which he understood.
"You are a simple fellow, Margari; but go on, go on!" Margari gaped violently, he would have liked to have stretched himself too, but he bethought him in time that his coat had already burst beneath his armpits, and he had no wish to make the rent still larger, so he let it alone and proceeded with his bitter labour.
By the time Monte Cristo had swum back to dry land, Margari's eyelids were almost glued to his eyes and still the old gentleman showed no sign of drowsiness.