able it might be, if it did take place would leave him
defenceless.

"But how shall I address the minister?"

"Sit down there," said Villefort, giving up his place to Morrel, "and
write what I dictate."

"Will you be so good?"

"Certainly. But lose no time; we have lost too much already."

"That is true. Only think what the poor fellow may even now be
suffering." Villefort shuddered at the suggestion; but he had gone
too far to draw back. Dantes must be crushed to gratify Villefort's
ambition.

Villefort dictated a petition, in which, from an excellent intention, no
doubt, Dantes' patriotic services were exaggerated, and he was made out
one of the most active agents of Napoleon's return. It was evident that
at the sight of this document the minister would instantly release him.
The petition finished, Villefort read it aloud.

"That will do," said he; "leave the rest to me."

"Will the petition go soon?"

"To-day."

"Countersigned by you?"

"The best thing I can do will be to certify the truth of the contents
of your petition." And, sitting down, Villefort wrote the certificate at
the bottom.

"What more is to be done?"

"I will do whatever is necessary." This assurance delighted Morrel, who
took leave of Villefort, and hastened to announce to old Dantes that he
would soon see his son.

As for Villefort, instead of sending to Paris, he carefully preserved
the petition that so fearfully compromised Dantes, in the hopes of an
event that seemed not unlikely,--that is, a second restoration. Dantes
remained a prisoner, and heard not the noise of the fall of Louis
XVIII.'s throne, or the still more tragic destruction of the empire.

Twice during the Hundred Days had Morrel renewed his demand, and twice
had Villefort soothed him with promises. At last there was Waterloo,
and Morrel came no more; he had done all that was in his power, and any
fresh attempt would only compromise himself uselessly.

Louis XVIII. remounted the throne; Villefort, to whom Marseilles
had become filled with remorseful memories, sought and obtained the
situation of king's procureur at Toulouse, and a fortnight afterwards
he married Mademoiselle de Saint-Meran, whose father now stood higher at
court than ever.

And so Dantes, after the Hundred Days and after Waterloo, remained in
his dungeon, forgotten of earth and heaven. Danglars comprehended the
full extent of the wretched fate that overwhelmed Dantes; and, when
Napoleon return