Aramis; "air is so necessary to life!"

"Well, monsieur," returned the prisoner; "draw near to the window; it is
open. Between high heaven and earth the wind whirls on its waftages
of hail and lightning, exhales its torrid mist or breathes in gentle
breezes. It caresses my face. When mounted on the back of this armchair,
with my arm around the bars of the window to sustain myself, I fancy
I am swimming the wide expanse before me." The countenance of Aramis
darkened as the young man continued: "Light I have! what is better than
light? I have the sun, a friend who comes to visit me every day without
the permission of the governor or the jailer's company. He comes in
at the window, and traces in my room a square the shape of the window,
which lights up the hangings of my bed and floods the very floor. This
luminous square increases from ten o'clock till midday, and decreases
from one till three slowly, as if, having hastened to my presence, it
sorrowed at bidding me farewell. When its last ray disappears I have
enjoyed its presence for five hours. Is not that sufficient? I have been
told that there are unhappy beings who dig in quarries, and laborers who
toil in mines, who never behold it at all." Aramis wiped the drops from
his brow. "As to the stars which are so delightful to view," continued
the young man, "they all resemble each other save in size and
brilliancy. I am a favored mortal, for if you had not lighted that
candle you would have been able to see the beautiful stars which I was
gazing at from my couch before your arrival, whose silvery rays were
stealing through my brain."

Aramis lowered his head; he felt himself overwhelmed with the bitter
flow of that sinister philosophy which is the religion of the captive.

"So much, then, for the flowers, the air, the daylight, and the stars,"
tranquilly continued the young man; "there remains but exercise. Do
I not walk all day in the governor's garden if it is fine--here if it
rains? in the fresh air if it is warm; in perfect warmth, thanks to my
winter stove, if it be cold? Ah! monsieur, do you fancy," continued the
prisoner, not without bitterness, "that men have not done everything for
me that a man can hope for or desire?"

"Men!" said Aramis; "be it so; but it seems to me you are forgetting
Heaven."

"Indeed I have forgotten Heaven," murmured the prisoner, with emotion;
"but why do you mention it? Of what use is it to talk to a prisoner of
Heaven?"

Aramis