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 looked steadily at this singular youth, who possessed the resignation of a martyr with the smile of an atheist.

"Is not Heaven in everything ?" he murmured in a reproachful tone.
"Say rather, at the end of everything," answered the prisoner, firmly.
"Be it so," said Aramis; "but let us return to our starting-point." "I ask nothing better," returned the young man.
"I am your confessor." "Yes." "Well, then, you ought, as a penitent, to tell me the truth." "My whole desire is to tell it you." "Every prisoner has committed some crime for which he has been imprisoned.

What crime, then, have you committed ?" "You asked me the same question the first time you saw me," returned the prisoner.
"And then, as now you evaded giving me an answer." "And what reason have you for thinking that I shall now reply to you ?" "Because this time I am your confessor." "Then if you wish me to tell what crime I have committed, explain to me in what a crime consists.

For as my conscience does not accuse me, I aver that I am not a criminal." "We are often criminals in the sight of the great of the earth, not alone for having ourselves committed crimes, but because we know that crimes have been committed." The prisoner manifested the deepest attention.
"Yes, I understand you," he said, after a pause; "yes, you are right, monsieur; it is very possible that, in such a light, I am a criminal in the eyes of the great of the earth." "Ah! then you know something," said Aramis, who thought he had pierced not merely through a defect in the harness, but through the joints of it.
"No, I am not aware of anything," replied the young man; "but sometimes I think--and I say to myself--" "What do you say to yourself ?" "That if I were to think but a little more deeply I should either go mad or I should divine a great deal." "And then--and then ?" said Aramis, impatiently.
"Then I leave off." "You leave off ?" "Yes; my head becomes confused and my ideas melancholy; I feel _ennui_ overtaking me; I wish--" "What ?" "I don't know; but I do not like to give myself up to longing for things which I do not possess, when I am so happy with what I have." "You are afraid of death ?" said Aramis, with a slight uneasiness.
"Yes," said the young man, smiling.
Aramis felt the chill of that smile, and shuddered.

"Oh, as you fear death, you know more about matters than you say," he cried.
"And you," returned the prisoner, "who bade me to ask to see you; you, who, when I did ask to see you, came here promising a world of confidence; how is it that, nevertheless, it is you who are silent, leaving it for me to speak?
Since, then, we both wear masks, either let us both retain them or put them aside together." Aramis felt the force and justice of the remark, saying to himself, "This is no ordinary man; I must be cautious .-- Are you ambitious ?" said he suddenly to the prisoner, aloud, without preparing him for the alteration.
"What do you mean by ambitious ?" replied the youth.
"Ambition," replied Aramis, "is the feeling which prompts a man to desire more--much more--than he possesses." "I said that I was contented, monsieur; but, perhaps, I deceive myself.
I am ignorant of the nature of ambition; but it is not impossible I may have some.