You do not ask the lamp to burn when the match has not illumed the flame; do not ask me to live amidst noise and merriment.

I vegetate, I prepare myself, I wait.

Look, doctor; remember those soldiers we have so often seen together at the ports, where they were waiting to embark; lying down, indifferent, half on one element, half on the other; they were neither at the place where the sea was going to carry them, nor at the place the earth was going to lose them; baggage prepared, minds on the stretch, arms stacked--they waited.

I repeat it, the word is the one which paints my present life.
Lying down like the soldiers, my ear on the stretch for the report that may reach me, I wish to be ready to set out at the first summons.

Who will make me that summons?
life or death?
God or Raoul?
My baggage is packed, my soul is prepared, I await the signal--I wait, doctor, I wait!" The doctor knew the temper of that mind; he appreciated the strength of that body; he reflected for the moment, told himself that words were useless, remedies absurd, and left the chateau, exhorting Athos's servants not to quit him for a moment.
The doctor being gone, Athos evinced neither anger nor vexation at having been disturbed.