“On what subject?”
“Albin.”
“Again!”
“Always the same,” said Claude.
“So then,” replied the inspector, walking along, “you have not had enough with twenty-four hours in the blackhole.”
Claude, following him closely, replied: “Sir, return my companion to me!”
“Impossible!”
“Sir,” continued Claude, in a voice which would have moved Satan, “I implore you to send Albin back to me; you will then see how I will work. You are free, and it would matter but little to you; you do not know the feeling of having only one friend. To me it is everything, encircled by the prison walls. You can come and go at your pleasure; I have but Albin. Pray let him come back to me! You know well he shared his food with me. What can it matter to you that a man named Claude Gueux should be in this hall, having another by his side called Albin? You have but to say ‘Yes,’ nothing more. Sir, my good sir, I implore you in the name of Heaven to grant my prayer!”
Claude, overcome with emotion, waited for the answer.
“Impossible!” replied the inspector, impatiently; “I will not recall my words. Now go, you annoyance!” And with that he hurried on toward the outer door, amid the breathless silence maintained by the eighty-one thieves.