"Excepting yourself—is it not? You, who come and relate all this; you, who rouse in my soul curiosity, hatred, ambition, and, perhaps, even the thirst of vengeance; except you, monsieur, who, if you are the man whom I expect, whom the note I have received applies to; whom, in short, Heaven ought to send me, must possess about you—"
"What?" asked Aramis.
"A portrait of the king, Louis XIV., who at this moment reigns upon the throne of France."
"Here is the portrait," replied the bishop, handing the prisoner a miniature in enamel, on which Louis was depicted life-like, with a handsome, lofty mien. The prisoner eagerly seized the portrait, and gazed at it with devouring eyes.
"And now, monseigneur," said Aramis, "here is a mirror." Aramis left the prisoner time to recover his ideas.
"So high—so high!" murmured the young man, eagerly comparing the likeness of Louis with his own countenance reflected in the glass.
"What do you think of it?" at length said Aramis.
"I think that I am lost," replied the captive; "the king will never set me free."
"And I—I demand," added the bishop, fixing his piercing eyes significantly upon the prisoner, "I demand which of the two is the king—the one whom this miniature portrays, or whom the glass reflects?"
"The king, monsieur," sadly replied the young man, "is he who is on the throne, who is not in prison; and who, on the other hand, can cause others to be entombed there. Royalty is power; and you see well how powerless I am."