The Count of Monte Cristo

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instrument he had placed on the stand, touched a spring, and immediately
a pale light, just bright enough to render objects distinct, was
reflected on his hands and countenance. "By heavens," exclaimed Monte
Cristo, starting back, "it is"--

Ali raised his hatchet. "Don't stir," whispered Monte Cristo, "and put
down your hatchet; we shall require no arms." Then he added some words
in a low tone, for the exclamation which surprise had drawn from the
count, faint as it had been, had startled the man who remained in the
pose of the old knife-grinder. It was an order the count had just given,
for immediately Ali went noiselessly, and returned, bearing a black
dress and a three-cornered hat. Meanwhile Monte Cristo had rapidly taken
off his great-coat, waistcoat, and shirt, and one might distinguish by
the glimmering through the open panel that he wore a pliant tunic of
steel mail, of which the last in France, where daggers are no longer
dreaded, was worn by King Louis XVI., who feared the dagger at his
breast, and whose head was cleft with a hatchet. The tunic soon