mine your chimney," said Baisemeaux, "does it smoke?"

"Never, monsieur."

"You were saying just now," said the governor, rubbing his hands
together, "that it was not possible for a man to be happy in prison;
here, however, is one who is so. You have nothing to complain of, I
hope?"

"Nothing."

"Do you ever feel weary?" said Aramis.

"Never."

"Ha, ha," said Baisemeaux, in a low tone of voice; "was I right?"

"Well, my dear governor, it is impossible not to yield to evidence. Is
it allowed to put any question to him?"

"As many as you like."

"Very well; be good enough to ask him if he knows why he is here."

"This gentleman requests me to ask you," said Baisemeaux, "if you are
aware of the cause of your imprisonment?"

"No, monsieur," said the young man, unaffectedly, "I am not."

"That is hardly possible," said Aramis, carried away by his feelings
in spite of himself; "if you were really ignorant of the cause of your
detention, you would be furious."

"I was so during the early days of my imprisonment."

"Why are you not so now?"

"Because I have reflected."

"That is strange," said Aramis.

"Is it not odd?" said Baisemeaux.

"May one venture to ask you, monsieur, on what you have reflected?"

"I felt that as I had committed no crime, Heaven could not punish me."

"What is a prison, then," inquired Aramis, "if it be not a punishment?"

"Alas! I cannot tell," said the young man; "all that I can tell you now
is the very opposite of what I felt seven years ago."

"To hear you converse, to witness your resignation, one might almost
believe that you liked your imprisonment?"

"I endure it.

"In the certainty of recovering your freedom some day, I suppose?"

"I have no certainty; hope I have, and that is all; and yet I
acknowledge that this hope becomes less every day."

"Still, why should you not again be free, since you have already been
so?"

"That is precisely the reason," replied the young man, "which prevents
me expecting liberty; why should I have been imprisoned at all if it had
been intended to release me afterwards?"

"How old are you?"

"I do not know."

"What is your name?"

"I have forgotten the name by which I was called."

"Who are your parents?"

"I never knew them."

"But those who brought you up?"

"They did not call me their son."

"Did you ever love any one before coming here?"

"I loved my nurse, and my flowers."

"Was that all?"

"I also loved my v