"You say you knew it by my costume,—by the inkhorn? Ah! my dear companion, you told me, if I mistake not, that you are at the point of death?"
"I hope that I have at last reached the end of my sufferings: yes, I hope to fall asleep to-day on earth, to wake to-morrow in heaven."
"I in no wise dispute what you say," replied Jacques, "but I will venture to remind you that your present situation is not one in which it is customary to joke."
"Who says that I am joking?" murmured the dying man with a deep sigh.
"What! you say that you recognized me by my costume, by the inkhorn at my belt, and I, look as hard as I may, cannot see my hands before my face."
"Possibly," rejoined the prisoner, "but when you have been fifteen years in a dungeon as I have, you will be able to see in the darkness, as well as you could see formerly in broad daylight."
"May the devil tear my eyes out rather than make them serve such an apprenticeship!" cried the student. "Fifteen years! you have been fifteen years in prison?"
"Fifteen or sixteen years, perhaps more, perhaps less. I long since ceased to count days or to measure time."
"You must have committed some abominable crime," cried the student, "to have been punished so pitilessly."
"I am innocent," replied the prisoner.