The major turned his head aside with an air of indifference.
“One single fact suffices to discount everything you have said, Baron,” he replied dryly. “You have twice attempted to escape from the fortress. An innocent man awaits his trial with confidence, knowing that it cannot be other than favorable. The culprit alone flees.”
Trenck, though quivering with blind rage, continued to maintain his former attitude, his features composed, his eyes fixed upon the major’s sword.
“Sir,” he said, “in three weeks, on the twenty-fifth of September, I shall have been a prisoner for one year. You in your position may not have found the time long, but to me it has dragged interminably. And it has been still harder for me to bear because I have not been able to count the days or hours which still separate me from justice and liberty. If I knew the limit set to my captivity—no matter what it may be—I could surely find resignation and patience to await it.”
“It is most unfortunate, then,” said the major, “that no one could give you that information.”
“Say rather, would not,” replied Trenck. “Surely, something of the matter must be known here. You, for instance, major, might tell me frankly what you think to be the case.”
“Ah!” said Doo, assuming the self-satisfied manner of a jailer; “it would not be proper for me to answer that.”
“You would save me from despair and revolt,” replied Trenck warmly. “For I give you my word of honor that from the moment I know when my captivity is to terminate—no matter when that may be, or what my subsequent fate—I will make no further attempts to evade it by flight.”
“And you want me to tell you——”
“Yes,” interrupted Trenck, with a shudder; “yes, once again I ask you.”