The Count of Monte Cristo

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Dantes took the lamp, placed it on a projecting stone above the bed,
whence its tremulous light fell with strange and fantastic ray on the
distorted countenance and motionless, stiffened body. With steady gaze
he awaited confidently the moment for administering the restorative.

When he believed that the right moment had arrived, he took the knife,
pried open the teeth, which offered less resistance than before, counted
one after the other twelve drops, and watched; the phial contained,
perhaps, twice as much more. He waited ten minutes, a quarter of an
hour, half an hour,--no change took place. Trembling, his hair erect,
his brow bathed with perspiration, he counted the seconds by the beating
of his heart. Then he thought it was time to make the last trial, and he
put the phial to the purple lips of Faria, and without having occasion
to force open his jaws, which had remained extended, he poured the whole
of the liquid down his throat.

The draught produced a galvanic effect, a violent trembling pervaded the