“How many have you?” inquired Aramis, in an indifferent tone of voice.
“Sixty.”
“Well, that is a tolerably round number.”
“In former times, my lord, there were, during certain years, as many as two hundred.”
“Still a minimum of sixty is not to be grumbled at.”
“Perhaps not; for, to anybody but myself, each prisoner would bring in two hundred and fifty pistoles; for instance, for a prince of the blood I have fifty francs a day.”
“Only you have no prince of the blood; at least, I suppose so,” said Aramis, with a slight tremor in his voice.
“No, thank Heaven!—I mean, no, unfortunately.”
“What do you mean by unfortunately?”
“Because my appointment would be improved by it. So, fifty francs per day for a prince of the blood, thirty-six for a marechal of France——”