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heavy in the air, adding to the gloom of the dingy cell. When at last the Baron spoke, it was slowly, hesitantly.
"There is a way."
"A way to what, old friend?"
"A way in which your...", the Baron hesitated, "...your death might be given meaning."
The Comte looked into the Baron's sad, fat face. The small round eyes shone with an intensity he had never seen before. He thought how strange it was that he, a man whose entire philosophy was built upon keen observation of the world, had never noticed the color of his friend's eyes. They were a deep liquid blue. "Go on," he said.
"Your dinner, monsieur." Neither of them had noticed Leboeuf leave. Now he had returned carrying a wooden tray, which he placed on the table, causing it to wobble unsteadily on the uneven stone floor. "And a bottle of the finest claret." He put his face close to the Comte's and his thin lips cracked into a broad grin, revealing his two yellow teeth. "Good health!" he breathed noxiously, and his grin spread wider across his leathery face.
"Excuse me, Baron," said the Comte. He took one step back to give himself room, raised his right arm and swung his fist hard into the jailer's face. The old man recoiled and slumped to the floor.
"Comte!" said the Baron.
"One moment, Baron." The Comte's eyes searched the floor. "One. Ah yes, over there in the corner. Two. Excellent."
"Bastard!" the old man spat through his bleeding lips. He raised himself to his feet and, holding his face, staggered through the door, shouting "Guards, guards."
"Perhaps they'll arrest me," said the Comte. "Now, Baron, what were you saying?"
The Baron stood for a moment, mouth open, staring after the departed jailer. He took out his lace handkerchief and mopped his brow, pushing his wig back a little at one side as he did so. Then he turned to face the Comte. "Saying? Ah yes. I was saying, Comte, that your death might yet be given some meaning."
"How can that be? Allow me." He raised his hands and straightened the Baron's wig.
"Thank you. Our unfinished project. The head and the heart. I do believe that we have the means of proving our proposition that the head is indeed the seat of consciousness, the originator of all thoughts, the home of what some call the soul. I hope you don't mind what I'm going to say."
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