“Because if I were even to put my foot inside one of those horrible dungeons, I should fancy I was buried there forever.”
“No, no; the cells are very good places to live in.”
“I really do not, and cannot believe it, and that is a fact.”
“Pray do not speak ill of second Bertaudiere. It is really a good room, very nicely furnished and carpeted. The young fellow has by no means been unhappy there; the best lodging the Bastile affords has been his. There is a chance for you.”
“Nay, nay,” said Aramis, coldly; “you will never make me believe there are any good rooms in the Bastile; and, as for your carpets, they exist only in your imagination. I should find nothing but spiders, rats, and perhaps toads, too.”
“Toads?” cried Baisemeaux.
“Yes, in the dungeons.”
“Ah! I don’t say there are not toads in the dungeons,” replied Baisemeaux. “But—will you be convinced by your own eyes?” he continued, with a sudden impulse.
“No, certainly not.”
“Not even to satisfy yourself of the resemblance which you deny, as you do the carpets?”