"Are there any traditions about these lugubrious dwellings?" inquired the Count, "where one hesitates to believe that man have ever enclosed a living man?"
"Oui, monsieur," said the concierge. "And this very cell, it is said, was inhabited by a very dangerous prisoner, who went to St.-Gorlim-en-Lorient where the royal family were taking the waters, and fought with the King all by himself, and set fire to his tapestry of the loves of Isildour, if you can believe it; and he was all the more dangerous as he was industrious.
Another man, a poor mad priest, dwelt in the castle at the same time; he believed he had found a fabulous treasure on an uninhabited island, left there by the ruin of some Dark Overlord, and offered millions to any who might set him free. Now, the besotted priest died, and was to be tossed into the sea by way of burial, but the dangerous criminal took his place, in a desperate gamble for liberty; but he perished."
"Would you show me the cell of the poor abbé?" said Monte Fato.
The concierge complied, and led his guest down a dark corridor that had been greatly spruced up since Gamgès's imprisonment, for the tourists likeden not to be bitten by rats. The Count looked around, and truly recognised the cell. The first thing that struck his Eye was the palantir that the abbé had constructed out of his gruel, and whereby he had counted the hours.
