"This chamber is somewhat obscure," continued the Prior; "but in the alterations which were made in this building, some twenty years ago, we could not arrange things better. What are now sleeping rooms were then part of the old chapel, and this high window looked out to the Prior's dwelling." So saying, he advanced and opened the casement, a great part of which, swinging back on its creaking and clattering hinges, gave admittance to the free air of summer from without, and showed to St. Real the heavy walls of another body of the building rising up before the window, at the distance of scarcely five feet. Running along upon the same level as the chamber in which he stood, might be seen one of those Gothic passages of fretted stone-work, which, in churches, are called monks' galleries; while, at the distance of about twenty feet below, appeared between the two buildings the narrow paved alley which united the inner to the outer court of the Dominican convent. The Prior proceeded with some more excuses for the dimness of the chamber; but as soon as he had concluded, St. Real, who had listened calmly, replied, "I complain not of the apartment, father, I have slept in worse; but I complain of imprisonment, when my safety and freedom were guaranteed to me by the Duke of Mayenne himself. However, let me warn you, that I am aware, from some circumstances which occurred at the gate of the convent, that his Highness of Mayenne is purposely held in ignorance of my imprisonment. I acquit him therefore of all dishonourable conduct: but how you, and others, will answer to him for bringing his honour and good faith in question, you must yourself consider." "For my actions," replied the Prior, somewhat sternly, "I am prepared, my son, not only to answer to him, but to God. Those of others I have nought to do with. It suffices for me, that I have authority from those who have a right to give it, to detain you here till I am assured that the lieutenant-general thinks it fit that you should be set at liberty. You are ungrateful, my son, for kindness felt and shown: you might have undergone harsher treatment, had you been consigned to the Bastille." "Father, I am not ungrateful," replied St. Real, whose simple good sense was no unequal match for even monkish shrewdness; "but when an act of injustice is committed, it is somewhat hard to require that the sufferer should be well pleased that that act of injustice is not greater than it is. To confine me here is wrong--to confine me in the Bastille were worse; but, surely, I cannot be expected to feel grateful to the thief who cuts my purse, simply because he does not cut my throat also!"