"Nothing."
"Do you ever feel wearied?" 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 know 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 afterward?"
