Welcome back, everyone to the Count of Mardi Cristo.

Today, Chapter 20, the Cemetery of the Chateau Deep.

Ferrea died in his cell, and I think we both can guess what brings us to the cemetery of the Chateau Deep.

And now our story.

On the bed at full length and faintly illuminated by the pale light that came from the window

lay a sack of canvas and under its rude folds was stretched long and stiffened form.

It was Pharia's last winding sheet, a winding sheet which, as the turnkey said, cost so little. Everything was in readiness.

A barrier had been placed between Dantes and his old friend. No longer could Edmund look into

those wide open eyes, which had seemed to be penetrating the mysteries of death. No longer could Edmund look into those wide open eyes, which had seemed to be penetrating

the mysteries of death. No longer could he clasped the hand which had done so much to make his

existence blessed. Ferrea, the beneficent and cheerful companion, with whom he was accustomed to live

so intimately, no longer breathed. He seated himself on the edge of that terrible bed

and fell into melancholy and gloomy reverie. Alone. He was alone again. Again condemned to silence.

Again face to face with nothingness. Alone. Never again to see the face.

Never again to hear the voice of the only human being who united him to earth.

Was not Faria's fate the better, after all, to solve the problem of life at its source, even at the risk of horrible suffering?

The idea of suicide, which his friend had driven away and kept away by his cheerful presence,

now hovered like a phantom over the Abbey's dead body.

If I could die, he thought to himself, I should go where he goes, and should assuredly find him again.

But how to die?

It is very easy, he went on with a smile.

I will remain here.

...