Number 34 and Number 27 — The Count of Monte Cristo

Edmond passes through the stages of a prisoner who still has hope and then loses it. At first pride in his innocence keeps him going. Then he doubts himself and wonders if he really is going mad, just as the governor always said. He begs guards for another cell, fresh air, books, and paper. When no one answers, he prays to men instead of God, because desperate people try every human way first.

When pleading fails, he rages, then decides to starve himself to death. That is the last choice still his own. He counts the days he has left to live and whispers prayers that no guard hears, until the scratching sound makes him reach for bread again. The sound brings back hunger and purpose. He breaks his water jug for a blade, tricks the jailer into leaving an iron pot handle, and digs in secret. Each morning he fills the hole with plaster so no one will know.

A voice from below asks who speaks of God and despair at the same time. Edmond learns his neighbor is prisoner number 27, the same mad abbé the inspector mocked. They talk through the stone with care. Edmond knocks three times before the work stops. The other man has dug for years, missed the outer wall by fifteen feet, and tells Edmond to stop digging for now. Edmond obeys and waits each night for the jailer's footsteps to fade. He hides every trace of plaster dust, listens for patrols above, and learns how carefully a man must move when one mistake means the dungeon forever.

Weeks pass. The saucepan handle becomes a chisel, the broken jug a blade, and hope returns because work returns. Edmond measures progress only by sound and learns how long solitude can last even when another prisoner lives one floor below. Then the floor gives way. A head, shoulders, and a body spring into the cell. Edmond is still not free, but he is no longer alone. For the first time since the inspector wrote nothing can be done, another living mind shares the darkness with him.