"I do not."

"Look round you then." Dantes rose and looked forward, when
he saw rise within a hundred yards of him the black and
frowning rock on which stands the Chateau d'If. This gloomy
fortress, which has for more than three hundred years
furnished food for so many wild legends, seemed to Dantes
like a scaffold to a malefactor.

"The Chateau d'If?" cried he, "what are we going there for?"
The gendarme smiled.

"I am not going there to be imprisoned," said Dantes; "it is
only used for political prisoners. I have committed no
crime. Are there any magistrates or judges at the Chateau
d'If?"

"There are only," said the gendarme, "a governor, a
garrison, turnkeys, and good thick walls. Come, come, do not
look so astonished, or you will make me think you are
laughing at me in return for my good nature." Dantes pressed
the gendarme's hand as though he would crush it.

"You think, then," said he, "that I am taken to the Chateau
d'If to be imprisoned there?"

"It is probable; but there is no occasion to squeeze so
hard."