"My Dear Friend—Raoul has been to ask me for some particulars about the conduct of Mademoiselle de la Valliere, during our young friend's residence in London. I am a poor captain of musketeers, and am sickened to death every day by hearing all the scandal of the barracks and bedside conversations. If I had told Raoul all I believe I know, the poor fellow would have died from it; but I am in the king's service, and cannot relate all I hear about the king's affairs. If your heart tells you to do it, set off at once; the matter concerns you more than myself, and almost as much as Raoul."
"My Dear Friend—Raoul has been to ask me for some particulars about the conduct of Mademoiselle de la Valliere, during our young friend's residence in London. I am a poor captain of musketeers, and am sickened to death every day by hearing all the scandal of the barracks and bedside conversations. If I had told Raoul all I believe I know, the poor fellow would have died from it; but I am in the king's service, and cannot relate all I hear about the king's affairs. If your heart tells you to do it, set off at once; the matter concerns you more than myself, and almost as much as Raoul."
Grimaud tore, not a handful, but a finger-and-thumbful of hair out of his head; he would have done more if his head of hair had been in more flourishing circumstances.
"Yes," he said, "that is the key of the whole enigma. The young girl has been playing her pranks; what people say about her and the king is true, then; our young master has been deceived; he ought to know it. Monsieur le Comte has been to see the king, and has told him a piece of his mind; and then the king sent M. d'Artagnan to arrange the affair. Ah, gracious goodness!" continued Grimaud, "Monsieur le Comte, I now remember, returned without his sword."
This discovery made the perspiration break out all over poor Grimaud's face. He did not waste any more time in useless conjecture, but clapped his hat on his head, and ran to Raoul's lodgings.
Raoul, after Louise had left him, had mastered his grief, if not his affection; and, compelled to look forward on that perilous road on which madness and rebellion were hurrying him, he had seen, from the very first glance, his father exposed to the royal obstinacy; since Athos had himself been the first to oppose any resistance to the royal will. At this moment, from a very natural sympathy of feeling, the unhappy young man remembered the mysterious signs which Athos had made, and the unexpected visit of D'Artagnan; the result of the conflict between a sovereign and a subject revealed itself to his terrified vision. As D'Artagnan was on duty, that is, fixed to his post without possibility of leaving it, it was certainly not likely that he had come to pay Athos a visit merely for the pleasure of seeing him. He must have come to say something to him. This something, in such painful conjectures, was either a misfortune or a danger. Raoul trembled at having been so selfish as to have forgotten his father for his affection; at having, in a word, passed his time in idle dreams, or in an indulgence of despair, at a time when a necessity existed for repelling the imminent attack directed against Athos. The very idea nearly drove him wild; he buckled on his sword and ran toward his father's lodgings. On his way there he encountered Grimaud, who, having set off from the opposite pole, was running with equal eagerness in search of the truth. The two men embraced each other most warmly.
"Grimaud," exclaimed Raoul, "is the comte well?"
"Have you seen him?"
"No; where is he?"
"I am trying to find out."
"And M. d'Artagnan?"
"Went out with him."
"When?"
"Ten minutes after you had left."
"In what way did they go out?"
"In a carriage."
"Where did they go to?"
"I have no idea at all."
"Did my father take any money with him?"
"No."
"Or his sword?"
"No."
"I have an idea, Grimaud, that M. d'Artagnan came in order to—"
"Arrest Monsieur le Comte, do you not think, monsieur?"
"Yes, Grimaud."
"I could have sworn it."
"What road did they take?"
"The way leading toward the quays."
"To the Bastille, then?"
"Yes, yes."
"Quick, quick; let us run."
"Yes, let us not lose a moment."
"But where are we to go to?" said Raoul, overwhelmed.
"We will go to M. d'Artagnan's first, we may perhaps learn something there."
"No; if they keep me in ignorance at my father's, they will do the same everywhere. Let us go to—Oh, good heavens! why I must be mad to-day, Grimaud; I have forgotten M. de Valon, who is waiting for and expecting me still."
"Where is he then?"
"At the Minimes of Vincennes."
"Thank goodness, that is on the same side as the Bastille. I will run and saddle the horses, and we will go at once," said Grimaud.
"Do, my friend, do."
The good and worthy Porthos, faithful to all the laws of ancient chivalry, had determined to wait for M. de Saint-Aignan until sunset; and, as Saint-Aignan did not come, as Raoul had forgotten to communicate with his second, and as he found that waiting so long was very wearisome, Porthos had desired one of the gatekeepers to fetch him a few bottles of good wine and a good joint of meat—so that he at least might pass away the time with a glass of wine and a mouthful of something to eat. He had just finished when Raoul arrived, escorted by Grimaud, both of them riding at full speed. As soon as Porthos saw the two cavaliers riding at such a pace along the road, he did not for a moment doubt but that they were the men he was expecting, and he rose from the grass upon which he had been indolently reclining and began to stretch his legs and arms, saying, "See what it is to have good habits. The fellow has finished by coming after all. If I had gone away he would have found no one here, and would have taken an advantage from that." He then threw himself into a martial attitude, and drew himself up to the full height of his gigantic stature. But instead of Saint-Aignan, he only saw Raoul, who, with the most despairing gestures, accosted him by crying out, "Pray forgive me, my dear friend, I am most wretched."
"Raoul!" cried Porthos, surprised.
"You have been angry with me?" said Raoul, embracing Porthos.
"I? What for?"
"For having forgotten you. But I assure you my head seems utterly lost. If you only knew!"
"You have killed him?"
"Who?"
"Saint-Aignan; or if that is not the case, what is the matter?"
"The matter is, that Monsieur le Comte de la Fere has by this time been arrested."
Porthos gave a start that would have thrown down a wall.
"Arrested," he cried out; "by whom?"
"By D'Artagnan."
"It is impossible," said Porthos.
"My dear friend, it is perfectly true."
Porthos turned toward Grimaud, as if he needed a second confirmation of the intelligence. Grimaud nodded his head. "And where have they taken him to?"
"Probably to the Bastille."
"What makes you think that?"
"As we came along we questioned some persons, who saw the carriage pass; and others who saw it enter the Bastille."
"Oh, oh!" muttered Porthos.
"What do you intend to do?" inquired Raoul.
"I? Nothing; only I will not have Athos remain at the Bastille."
"Do you know," said Raoul, advancing nearer to Porthos, "that the arrest was made by order of the king?"
Porthos looked at the young man as if to say, "What does that matter to me?" This dumb language seemed so eloquent of meaning to Raoul, that he did not ask another question. He mounted his horse again; and Porthos, assisted by Grimaud, had already done the same.
"Let us arrange our plan of action,"' said Raoul.
"Yes," returned Porthos, "that is the best thing we can do."
Raoul sighed deeply, and then paused suddenly.
"What is the matter?" asked Porthos; "are you faint?"
"No, only I feel how utterly helpless our position is. Can we three pretend to go and take the Bastille?"
"Well, if D'Artagnan were only here," replied Porthos, "I don't know about that."
Raoul could not resist a feeling of admiration at the sight of such a perfect confidence, heroic in its simplicity. These were truly the celebrated men who, by three or four, attacked armies and assaulted castles! Those men who had terrified death itself, and who survived the wrecks of an age, and were still stronger than the most robust of the young.
"Monsieur," said he to Porthos, "you have just given me an idea; we absolutely must see M. d'Artagnan."
"Undoubtedly."
"He ought by this time to have returned home, after having taken my father to the Bastille. Let us go to his house."
"First, inquire at the Bastille," said Grimaud, who was in the habit of speaking little, but that to the purpose.
Accordingly, they hastened toward the fortress, when one of those chances which Heaven bestows on men of strong will, caused Grimaud suddenly to perceive the carriage, which was entering by the great gate of the drawbridge. This was at the moment that D'Artagnan was, as we haveseen, returning from his visit to the king. In vain was it that Raoul urged on his horse in order to join the carriage, and to see whom it contained. The horses had already gained the other side of the great gate, which again closed, while one of the sentries struck the nose of Raoul's horse with his musket; Raoul turned about, only too happy to find he had ascertained something respecting the carriage which had contained his father. "We have him," said Grimaud.
"If we wait a little it is certain he will leave; don't you think so, my friend?"
"Unless, indeed, D'Artagnan also be a prisoner," replied Porthos, "in which case everything is lost."
Raoul returned no answer, for any hypothesis was admissible. He instructed Grimaud to lead the horses to the little street Jean-Beausire, so as to give rise to less suspicion, and himself with his piercing gaze watched for the exit either of D'Artagnan or the carriage. Nor had he decided wrongly; for twenty minutes had not elapsed before the gate reopened and the carriage reappeared. A dazzling of the eyes prevented Raoul from distinguishing what figures occupied the interior. Grimaud averred that he had seen two persons, and that one of them was his master. Porthos kept looking at Raoul and Grimaud by turns, in the hope of understanding their idea.
"It is clear," said Grimaud, "that if the comte is in the carriage, either he is set at liberty or they are taking him to another prison."
"We shall soon see that by the road he takes," answered Porthos.
"If he is set at liberty," said Grimaud, "they will conduct him home."
"True," rejoined Porthos.
"The carriage does not take that way," cried Raoul; and indeed the horses were just disappearing down the Faubourg St. Antoine.
"Let us hasten," said Porthos; "we will attack the carriage on the road, and tell Athos to flee."
"Rebellion," murmured Raoul.
Porthos darted a second glance at Raoul, quite worthy of the first. Raoulreplied only by spurring the flanks of his steed. In a few moments the three cavaliers had overtaken the carriage, and followed it so closely that their horses' breath moistened the back of it. D'Artagnan, whose senses were ever on the alert, heard the trot of the horses, at the moment when Raoul was telling Porthos to pass the chariot so as to see who was the person accompanying Athos. Porthos complied, but could not see anything, for the blinds were lowered. Rage and impatience were gaining mastery over Raoul. He had just noticed the mystery preserved by Athos' companion, and determined on proceeding to extremities. On his part, D'Artagnan had perfectly recognized Porthos, and Raoul also, from under the blinds, and had communicated to the comte the result of his observation. They were desirous only of seeing whether Raoul and Porthos would push the affair to the uttermost. And this they speedily did, for Raoul presenting his pistol threw himself on the leader, commanding the coachman to stop. Porthos seized the coachman and dragged him from his seat. Grimaud already had hold of the carriage door. Raoul threw open his arms, exclaiming, "M. le Comte! M. le Comte!"
"Ah! is it you, Raoul?" said Athos, intoxicated with joy.
"Not bad, indeed!" added D'Artagnan, with a burst of laughter, and they both embraced the young man and Porthos, who had taken possession of them.
"My brave Porthos! best of friends," cried Athos, "it is still the same with you."
"He is still only twenty," said D'Artagnan, "brave Porthos!"
"Confound it!" answered Porthos, slightly confused, "we thought that you were being arrested."
"While," rejoined Athos, "the matter in question was nothing but my taking a drive in M. d'Artagnan's carriage."
"But we followed you from the Bastille," returned Raoul, with a tone of suspicion and reproach.
"Where we had been to take supper with our good friend M. Baisemeaux. Do you recollect Baisemeaux, Porthos?"
"Very well, indeed."
"And there we saw Aramis."
"In the Bastille?"
"At supper."
"Ah!" said Porthos, again breathing freely.
"He gave us a thousand messages for you."
"And where is M. le Comte going?" asked Grimaud, already recompensed by a smile from his master.
"We are going home to Blois."
"How can that be?"
"At once?" said Raoul.
"Yes; right forward."
"Without any luggage?"
"Oh! Raoul would have been instructed to forward me mine, or to bring it with him on his return,ifhe returns."
"If nothing detains him longer in Paris," said D'Artagnan, with a glance firm and cutting as steel, and as painful (for it reopened the poor young fellow's wounds), "he will do well to follow you, Athos."
"There is nothing to keep me any longer in Paris," said Raoul.
"Then we will go immediately," replied Athos.
"And M. d'Artagnan?"
"Oh! as for me, I was only accompanying Athos as far as the barrier, and I return with Porthos."
"Very good," said the latter.
"Come, my son," added the comte, gently passing his arm round Raoul's neck to draw him into the carriage, and again embracing him. "Grimaud," continued the comte, "you will return quietly to Paris with your horse and M. de Valon's, for Raoul and I will mount here and give up the carriage to these two gentlemen to return to Paris in; and then, as soon as you arrive, you will take my clothes and letters and forward the whole to me at home."
"But," observed Raoul, who was anxious to make the comte converse, "when you return to Paris, there will not be a single thing there for you—which will be very inconvenient."
"I think it will be a very long time, Raoul, ere I return to Paris. The lastsojourn we have made there has not been of a nature to encourage me to repeat it."
Raoul presenting his pistolRaoul presenting his pistol threw himself on theleader, commanding the coachman to stop.—Page288.
Raoul hung his head and said not a word more. Athos descended from the carriage and mounted the horse which had brought Porthos, and which seemed no little pleased at the exchange. Then they embraced, clasped each other's hands, interchanged a thousand pledges of eternal friendship. Porthos promised to spend a month with Athos at the first opportunity. D'Artagnan engaged to take advantage of his first leave of absence; and then, having embraced Raoul for the last time: "To you, my boy," said he, "I will write." Coming from D'Artagnan, who he knew wrote but very seldom, these words expressed everything. Raoul was moved even to tears. He tore himself away from the musketeer and departed.
D'Artagnan rejoined Porthos in the carriage. "Well," said he, "my dear friend, what a day we have had!"
"Indeed we have," answered Porthos.
"You must be quite worn out?"
"Not quite; however, I shall retire early to rest, so as to be ready to-morrow."
"And wherefore?"
"Why, to complete what I have begun."
"You make me shudder, my friend, you seem to me quite angry. What the devilhaveyou begun which is not finished?"
"Listen; Raoul has not fought, butImust fight."
"With whom?—with the king?"
"How!" exclaimed Porthos, astounded, "with the king?"
"Yes, I say, you great baby, with the king!"
"I assure you it is with M. Saint-Aignan."
"Look now, this is what I mean: you draw your sword against the king in fighting with this gentleman."
"Ah!" said Porthos, staring; "are you sure of it?"
"Indeed I am."
"What in the world are we to do, then?"
"We must try and make a good supper, Porthos. The captain of the musketeers keeps a tolerable table. There you will see the handsome Saint-Aignan, and will drink his health."
"I!" cried Porthos, horrified.
"What!" said D'Artagnan, "you refuse to drink the king's health?"
"But, body alive! I am not talking to you about the king at all; I am speaking of M. de Saint-Aignan."
"But since I repeat that it is the same thing."
"Ah, well, well!" said Porthos, overcome.
"You understand, don't you?"
"No," answered Porthos, "but 'tis all the same."
The reader has not forgotten that, on quitting the Bastille, D'Artagnan and the Comte de la Fere had left Aramis in close confabulation with Baisemeaux. When once these two guests had departed, Baisemeaux did not in the least perceive that the conversation suffered by their absence. He used to think that wine after supper, and that of the Bastille in particular, was excellent; and that it was a stimulant quite sufficient to make an honest man talk. But he little knew His Greatness, who was never more impenetrable than at dessert. His Greatness, however, perfectly understood M. de Baisemeaux, when he reckoned on making the governor discourse on the means which the latter regarded as efficacious. The conversation, therefore, without flagging in appearance, flagged in reality; for Baisemeaux not only had it nearly all to himself, but further, kept speaking only of that singular event—the incarceration of Athos—followed by so prompt an order to set him again at liberty. Nor, moreover, had Baisemeaux failed to observe that the two orders of arrest and of liberation were both in the king's hand. But, then, the king would not take the trouble to write similar orders except under pressing circumstances. All this was very interesting, and, above all, very puzzling to Baisemeaux; but as on the other hand all this was very clear to Aramis, the latter did not attach to the occurrence the same importance as did the worthy governor. Besides, Aramis rarely put himself out of the way for anything, and he had not yet told M. de Baisemeaux for what reason he had now done so. And so, at the very climax of Baisemeaux's dissertation, Aramis suddenly interrupted him.
"Tell me, my dear M. Baisemeaux," said he, "have you never any other diversions at the Bastille than those at which I assisted during the two or three visits I have had the honor to pay you?"
This address was so unexpected that the governor, like a vane which suddenly receives an impulsion opposed to that of the wind, was quite dumfounded at it. "Diversions," said he, "but I take them continually, monseigneur."
"Oh, to be sure! And these diversions!"
"Are of every kind."
"Visits, no doubt?"
"No, not visits. Visits are not frequent at the Bastille."
"What, are visits rare, then?"
"Very much so."
"Even on the part of your society?"
"What do you term by my society—the prisoners?"
"Oh, no!—your prisoners, indeed! I know well it is you who visit them, and not they you. By your society I mean, my dear M. Baisemeaux, the society of which you are a member."
Baisemeaux looked fixedly at Aramis, and then, as if the idea which had flashed across his mind were impossible, "Oh!" he said, "I have very little society at present. If I must own it to you, my dear M. d'Herblay, the fact is, to stay at the Bastille appears for the most part distressing and distasteful to persons of the gay world. As for the ladies, it is never without a dread, which costs me infinite trouble to allay, that they succeed in reaching my quarters. And, indeed, how should they avoid trembling a little,poor things, when they see those gloomy dungeons, and reflect that they are inhabited by prisoners who—" And in proportion as the eyes of Baisemeaux concentrated their gaze on the face of Aramis, the worthy governor's tongue faltered more and more, until it ended by stopping altogether.
"No, you don't understand me, my dear M. Baisemeaux; you don't understand me. I do not at all mean to speak of society in general, but of a particular society—ofthesociety, in a word—to which you are affiliated."
Baisemeaux nearly dropped the glass of muscat which he was in the act of raising to his lips. "Affiliated!" cried he, "affiliated!"
"Yes, affiliated, undoubtedly," repeated Aramis, with the greatest self-possession. "Are you not a member of a secret society, my dear M. Baisemeaux!"
"Secret?"
"Secret or mysterious."
"Oh, M. d'Herblay!"
"Consider now, don't deny it."
"But believe me."
"I believe what I know."
"I swear to you."
"Listen to me, my dear M. Baisemeaux; I say yes, you say no; one of us two necessarily says what is true, and the other, it inevitably follows, what is false."
"Well, and then?"
"Well, we shall come to an understanding presently."
"Let us see," said Baisemeaux; "let us see."
"Now drink your glass of muscat, dear M. de Baisemeaux," said Aramis. "What the devil! you look quite scared."
"No, no; not the least in the world; no."
"Drink, then." Baisemeaux drank, but he swallowed the wrong way.
"Well," resumed Aramis, "if I say you are not a member of a secret or mysterious society, which you like to call it, the epithet is of no consequence; if I say you are not a member of a society similar to that I wish to designate, well, then, you will not understand a word of what I am going to say, that is all."
"Oh! be sure beforehand that I shall not understand anything."
"Well, well!"
"Try now, let us see."
"That is what I am going to do."
"If, on the contrary, you are one of the members of this society, you will immediately answer me—yes, or no."
"Begin your questions," continued Baisemeaux, trembling.
"You will agree, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux," continued Aramis, with the same impassibility, "that it is evident a man cannot be a member of a society, it is evident that he cannot enjoy the advantages it offers to the affiliated, without being himself bound to certain little services."
"In short," stammered Baisemeaux, "that would be intelligible if—"
"Well," resumed Aramis, "there is in the society of which I speak, and of which, as it seems, you are not a member—"
"Allow me," said Baisemeaux, "I should not like to say absolutely."
"There is an engagement entered into by all the governors and captains of fortresses affiliated to the order." Baisemeaux grew pale.
"Now the engagement," continued Aramis, firmly, "is of this nature."
Baisemeaux rose, manifesting unspeakable emotion, "Go on, dear M. d'Herblay; go on," said he.
Aramis then spoke, or rather recited, the following paragraph, in the same tone as if he had been reading it from a book: "The aforesaid captain or governor of a fortress shall allow to enter when need shall arise, and on demand of the prisoner, a confessor affiliated to the order." He stopped. Baisemeaux was quite distressing to look at, being so wretchedly pale and trembling. "Is not that the text of the agreement?" quietly asked Aramis.
"Monseigneur!" began Baisemeaux.
"Ah! well, you begin to understand, I think."
"Monseigneur," cried Baisemeaux, "do not trifle so with my unhappy mind! I find myself nothing in your hands, if you have the malignant desire to draw from me the little secrets of my administration."
"Oh! by no means; pray undeceive yourself, dear M. Baisemeaux; it is not the little secrets of your administration, but those of your conscience that I aim at."
"Well, then, my conscience be it, my dear M. d'Herblay. But have some consideration for the situation I am in, which is no ordinary one."
"It is no ordinary one, my dear monsieur," continued the inflexible Aramis, "if you are a member of this society; but it is quite a natural one if free from all engagements. You are answerable only to the king."
"Well, monsieur, well! I obey only the king, and whom else would you have a French nobleman obey?"
Aramis did not yield an inch; but with that silvery voice of his continued, "It is very pleasant," said he, "for a French nobleman, for a prelate of France, to hear a man of your mark express himself so loyally, dear De Baisemeaux, and having heard you to believe no more than you do."
"Have you doubted, monsieur?"
"I? oh, no!"
"And so you doubt no longer?"
"I have no longer any doubt that such a man as you, monsieur," said Aramis, gravely, "does not faithfully serve the masters whom he voluntarily chose for himself."
"Masters!" cried Baisemeaux.
"Yes, masters, I said."
"Monsieur d'Herblay, you are still jesting, are you not?"
"Oh, yes! I understand that it is a more difficult position to have several masters than one; but the embarrassment is owing to you, my dear Baisemeaux, and I am not the cause of it."
"Certainly not," returned the unfortunate governor, more embarrassed than ever; "but what are you doing? You are leaving the table?"
"Assuredly."
"Are you going?"
"Yes, I am going."
"But you are behaving very strangely toward me, monseigneur."
"I am behaving strangely—how do you make that out?"
"Have you sworn, then, to put me to the torture?"
"No, I should be sorry to do so."
"Remain, then."
"I cannot."
"And why?"
"Because I have no longer anything to do here; and, indeed, I have duties to fulfill elsewhere."
"Duties, so late as this?"
"Yes; understand me now, my dear De Baisemeaux; they told me at the place whence I came, 'The aforesaid governor or captain will allow to enter, as need shall arise, on the prisoner's demand, a confessor affiliated with the order.' I came; you do not know what I mean, and so I shall return to tell them that they are mistaken, and that they must send me elsewhere."
"What! you are—" cried Baisemeaux, looking at Aramis almost in terror.
"The confessor affiliated to the order," said Aramis, without changing his voice.
But, gentle as the words were, they had the same effect on the unhappy governor as a clap of thunder. Baisemeaux became livid, and it seemed to him as if Aramis' beaming eyes were two forks of flame, piercing to the very bottom of his soul. "The confessor!" murmured he; "you, monseigneur, the confessor of the order!"
"Yes, I; but we have nothing to unravel together, seeing that you are not one of the affiliated."
"Monseigneur!"
"And I understand, that not being so, you refuse to comply with its commands."
"Monseigneur, I beseech you, condescend to hear me."
"And wherefore?"
"Monseigneur, I do not say that I have nothing to do with the society."
"Ah! ah!"
"I say not that I refuse to obey."
"Nevertheless, M. de Baisemeaux, what has passed wears very much the air of resistance."
"Oh, no! monseigneur, no; I only wished to be certain."
"To be certain of what?" said Aramis, in a tone of supreme contempt.
"Of nothing at all, monseigneur." Baisemeaux lowered his voice, and bending before the prelate, said, "I am at all times and in all places at the disposal of my masters, but—"
"Very good. I like you better thus, monsieur," said Aramis, as he resumed his seat, and put out his glass to Baisemeaux, whose hand trembled so that he could not fill it. "You were saying 'but'—" continued Aramis.
"But," replied the unhappy man, "having no notice, I was far from expecting."
"Does not the Gospel say, 'Watch, for the moment is known only of God.' Do not the rules of the order say, 'Watch, for that which I will, you ought always to will also.' And on what pretext is it that you did not expect the confessor, M. de Baisemeaux?"
"Because, monseigneur, there is at present in the Bastille no prisoner ill."
Aramis shrugged his shoulders. "What do you know about that?" said he.
"But nevertheless, it appears to me—"
"M. de Baisemeaux," said Aramis, turning round in his chair, "here is your servant, who wishes to speak with you;" and, at this moment, De Baisemeaux's servant appeared at the threshold of the door.
"What is it?" asked Baisemeaux, sharply.
"Monsieur," said the man, "they are bringing you the doctor's return."
Aramis looked at De Baisemeaux with a calm and confident eye.
"Well," said he, "let the messenger enter."
The messenger entered, saluted, and handed in the report. Baisemeaux ran his eye over it, and raising his head said, in surprise, "No. 12 is ill."
"How was it, then," said Aramis, carelessly, "that you told me everybody was well in your hotel, M. de Baisemeaux?" And he emptied his glass without removing his eyes from Baisemeaux.
The governor then made a sign to the messenger, and when he had quitted theroom said, still trembling, "I think that there is in the article, 'on the prisoner's demand.'"
"Yes, it is so," answered Aramis. "But, see what it is they want with you now."
At that moment a sergeant put his head in at the door. "What do you want now?" cried Baisemeaux. "Can you not leave me in peace for ten minutes?"
"Monsieur," said the sergeant, "the sick man, No. 12, has commissioned the turnkey to request you to send him a confessor."
Baisemeaux very nearly sank on the floor; but Aramis disdained to reassure him, just as he had disdained to terrify him. "What must I answer?" inquired Baisemeaux.
"Just what you please," replied Aramis, compressing his lips; "that is your business.Iam not governor of the Bastille."
"Tell the prisoner," cried Baisemeaux, quickly—"tell the prisoner that his request is granted." The sergeant left the room. "Oh, monseigneur, monseigneur," murmured Baisemeaux, "how could I have suspected!—how could I have foreseen this?"
"Who requested you to suspect, and who besought you to foresee?" contemptuously answered Aramis. "The order suspects; the order knows; the order foresees—is not that enough?"
"What do you command?" added Baisemeaux.
"I?—nothing at all. I am nothing but a poor priest, a simple confessor. Have I your orders to go and see the sufferer?"
"O, monseigneur, I do not order; I pray you to go."
"'Tis well; then conduct me to him."
Since Aramis' singular transformation into a confessor of the order, Baisemeaux was no longer the same man. Up to that period, the place which Aramis had held in the worthy governor's estimation was that of a prelate whom he respected and a friend to whom he owed a debt of gratitude; but now he felt himself an inferior, and that Aramis was his master. He himself lighted a lantern, summoned a turnkey, and said, returning to Aramis, "I am at your orders, monseigneur." Aramis merely nodded his head, as much as to say, "Very good;" and signed to him with his hand to lead the way. Baisemeaux advanced, and Aramis followed him. It was a beautiful starry night; the steps of the three men resounded on the flags of the terraces, and the clinking of the keys hanging from the jailer's girdle made itself heard up to the stories of the towers, as if to remind the prisoners that liberty was out of their reach. It might have been said that the alteration effected in Baisemeaux had extended itself even to the prisoners. The turnkey, the same who on Aramis' first arrival had shown himself so inquisitive and curious, had now become not only silent, but even impassible. He held his head down, and seemed afraid to keep his ears open. In this wise they reached the basement of the Bertaudiere, the two first stories of which were mounted silently and somewhat slowly; for Baisemeaux, though far from disobeying, was far from exhibiting any eagerness to obey. On arriving at the door, Baisemeaux showed a disposition to enter the prisoner's chamber; but Aramis, stopping him on the threshold, said, "The rules do not allow the governor to hear the prisoner's confession."
Baisemeaux bowed, and made way for Aramis, who took the lantern and entered; and then signed to them to close the door behind him. For an instant he remained standing, listening whether Baisemeaux and the turnkey had retired; but as soon as he was assured by the sound of their dying footsteps that they had left the tower, he put the lantern on the table and gazed around. On a bed of green serge, similar in all respects to the other beds in the Bastille, save that it was newer, and under curtains half-drawn, reposed a young man, to whom we have already once before introduced Aramis. According to custom, the prisoner was without a light. At the hour of curfew, he was bound to extinguish his lamp, and we perceive how much he was favored, in being allowed to keep it burning even till then. Near the bed a large leathern armchair, with twisted legs, sustained his clothes. A little table—without pens, books, paper, or ink—stood neglected in sadness near the window; while several plates, still unemptied, showed that the prisoner had scarcely touched his recent repast. Aramis saw that the young man was stretched upon his bed, his face half-concealed by his arms. The arrival of a visitor did not cause any change of position, either he was waiting in expectation, or was asleep. Aramis lighted the candle from the lantern, pushed back the armchair, and approached the bed with an evident mixture of interest and respect. The young man raised his head. "What is it?" said he.
"Have you not desired a confessor?" replied Aramis.
"Yes."
"Because you are ill?"
"Yes."
"Very ill?"
The young man gave Aramis a piercing glance, and answered "I thank you." After a moment's silence, "I have seen you before," he continued.
Aramis bowed.
Doubtless, the scrutiny the prisoner had just made of the cold, crafty, and imperious character stamped upon the features of the bishop of Vannes was little reassuring to one in his situation, for he added, "I am better."
"And then?" said Aramis.
"Why then—being better, I have no longer the same need of a confessor, I think."
"Not even of the haircloth, which the note you found in your bread informed you of?"
The young man started; but before he had either assented or denied, Aramis continued, "Not, even, of the ecclesiastic from whom you were to hear an important revelation?"
"If it be so," said the young man, sinking again on his pillow, "it is different; I listen."
Aramis then looked at him more closely, and was struck with the easy majesty of his mien, one which can never be acquired unless Heaven has implanted it in the blood or heart. "Sit down, monsieur," said the prisoner.
Aramis bowed and obeyed. "How does the Bastille agree with you?" asked the bishop.
"Very well."
"You do not suffer?"
"No."
"You have nothing to regret?"
"Nothing."
"Not even your liberty?"
"What do you call liberty, monsieur?" asked the prisoner, with the tone of a man who is preparing for a struggle.
"I call liberty, the flowers, the air, light, the stars, the happiness of going whithersoever the nervous limbs of twenty years of age may wish to carry you." The young man smiled, whether in resignation or contempt, it was difficult to tell. "Look," said he, "I have in that Japanese vase two roses gathered yesterday evening in the bud from the governor's garden; this morning they have blown and spread their vermilion chalices beneath my gaze; with every opening petal they unfold the treasures of their perfume, filling my chamber with a fragrance that embalms it. Look now on these two roses; even among roses these are beautiful, and the rose is the most beautiful of flowers. Why, then, do you bid me desire other flowers when I possess the loveliest of all?"
Aramis gazed at the young man in surprise. "Ifflowersconstitute liberty," sadly resumed the captive, "I am free, for I possess them."
"But the air!" cried Aramis; "air so necessary to life!"
"Well, monsieur," returned the prisoner; "draw near to the window; it is open. Between heaven and earth the wind whirls on its storms of hail andlightning, wafts its warm mists or breathes in gentle breezes. It caresses my face. When mounted on the back of this armchair, with my arm around the bars of the window to sustain myself, I fancy I am swimming in the wide expanse before me." The countenance of Aramis darkened as the young man continued: "Light I have! what is better than light! I have the sun, a friend who comes to visit me every day without the permission of the governor or the jailer's company. He comes in at the window and traces in my room a square the shape of the window, and which lights up the hangings of my bed down to the border. This luminous square increases from ten o'clock till mid-day, and decreases from one till three slowly, as if, having hastened to come, it sorrowed at leaving me. When its last ray disappears, I have enjoyed its presence for four hours. Is not that sufficient? I have been told that there are unhappy beings who dig in quarries, and laborers who toil in mines, and who never behold it at all." Aramis wiped the drops from his brow. "As to the stars which are so delightful to view," continued the young man, "they all resemble each other save in size and brilliancy. I am a favored mortal, for if you had not lighted that candle, you would have been able to see the beautiful stars which I was gazing at from my couch before your arrival, and whose rays were playing over my eyes." Aramis lowered his head; he felt himself overwhelmed with the bitter flow of that sinister philosophy which is the religion of the captive. "So much, then, for the flowers, the air, the daylight, and the stars," tranquilly continued the young man; "there remains but my exercise. Do I not walk all day in the governor's garden if it is fine—here if it rains; in the fresh air if it is warm; in the warm, thanks to my winter stove, if it be cold? Ah! monsieur, do you fancy," continued the prisoner, not without bitterness, "that men have not done everything for me that a man can hope for or desire!"
"Men!" said Aramis; "be it so; but it seems to me you forget Heaven."
"Indeed I have forgotten Heaven," murmured the prisoner, with emotion; "but why do you mention it? Of what use is it to talk to a prisoner of Heaven?"
Aramis looked steadily at this singular youth, who possessed the resignation of a martyr with the smile of an atheist. "Is not Heaven in everything?" he murmured in a reproachful tone.
"Say rather, at the end of everything," answered the prisoner, firmly.
"Be it so," said Aramis; "but let us return to our starting-point."
"I desire nothing better," returned the young man.
"I am your confessor."
"Yes."
"Well, then, you ought, as a penitent, to tell me the truth."
"All that I wish is to tell it you."
"Every prisoner has committed some crime for which he has been imprisoned. What crime then haveyoucommitted?"
"You asked me the same question the first time you saw me," returned the prisoner.
"And then, as now, you evaded giving me an answer."
"And what reason have you for thinking that I shall now reply to you?"
"Because this time I am your confessor."
"Then, if you wish me to tell what crime I have committed, explain to me in what a crime consists. For as my conscience does not accuse me, I aver that I am not a criminal."
"We are often criminals in the sight of the great of the earth, not alone for having ourselves committed crimes, but because we know that crimes have been committed."
The prisoner manifested the deepest attention. "Yes, I understand you," he said, after a pause; "yes, you are right, monsieur; it is very possible that, in that light, I am a criminal in the eyes of the great of the earth."
"Ah! then you know something," said Aramis, who thought he had pierced not merely through a defect in, but through the joints of the harness.
"No, I am not aware of anything," replied the young man; "but sometimes I think—and I say to myself—"
"What do you say to yourself?"
"That if I were to think any further I should either go mad or I should divine a great deal."
"And then—and then?" said Aramis, impatiently.
"Then I leave off."
"You leave off?"
"Yes; my head becomes confused and my ideas melancholy; I feel ennui overtaking me; I wish—"
"What?"
"I don't know; but I do not like to give myself up to longing for things which I do not possess, when I am so happy with what I have."
"You are afraid of death?" said Aramis, with a slight uneasiness.
"Yes," said the young man, smiling.
Aramis felt the chill of that smile, and shuddered. "Oh, as you fear death, you know more about matters than you say," he cried.
"And you," returned the prisoner, "who bade me to ask to see you—you, who, when I did ask for you, came here promising a world of confidence—how is it that, nevertheless, it is you who are silent, and 'tis I who speak? Since, then, we both wear masks, either let us both retain them or put them aside together."
Aramis felt the force and justice of the remark, saying to himself, "This is no ordinary man; I must be cautious. Are you ambitious?" said he suddenly to the prisoner aloud, without preparing him for the alteration.
"What do you mean by ambition?" replied the youth.
"It is," replied Aramis, "a feeling which prompts a man to desire more than he has."
"I said that I was contented, monsieur; but perhaps I deceive myself. I am ignorant of the nature of ambition; but it is not impossible I may have some. Tell me your mind; 'tis all I wish."
"An ambitious man," said Aramis, "is one who covets what is beyond his station."
"I covet nothing beyond my station," said the young man, with an assurance of manner which for the second time made the bishop of Vannes tremble.
He was silent. But to look at the kindling eye, the knitted brow, and the reflective attitude of the captive, it was evident that he expected something more than silence—a silence which Aramis now broke. "You lied the first time I saw you," said he.
"Lied!" cried the young man, starting up on his couch, with such a tone in his voice, and such a lightning in his eyes, that Aramis recoiled in spite of himself.
"Ishouldsay," returned Aramis, bowing, "you concealed from me what you knew of your infancy."
"A man's secrets are his own, monsieur," retorted the prisoner, "and not at the mercy of the first chance-comer."
"True," said Aramis, bowing still lower than before, "'tis true; pardon me, but to-day do I still occupy the place of a chance-comer? I beseech you to reply, monseigneur."
This title slightly disturbed the prisoner; but nevertheless he did not appear astonished that it was given him. "I do not know you, monsieur," said he.
"Oh, if I but dared, I would take your hand and would kiss it."
The young man seemed as if he were going to give Aramis his hand; but the light which beamed in his eyes faded away, and he coldly and distrustfully withdrew his hand again. "Kiss the hand of a prisoner," he said, shaking his head; "to what purpose?"
"Why did you tell me," said Aramis, "that you were happy here? Why, that you aspired to nothing? Why, in a word, by thus speaking, do you prevent me from being frank in my turn?"
The same light shone a third time in the young man's eyes, but died ineffectually away as before.
"You distrust me," said Aramis.
"And why say you so, monsieur?"
"Oh, for a very simple reason; if you know what you ought to know, you ought to mistrust everybody."
"Then be not astonished that I ammistrustful, since you suspect me of knowing what I know not."
Aramis was struck with admiration at this energetic resistance. "Oh, monseigneur! you drive me to despair," said he, striking the armchair with his fist.
"And on my part I do not comprehend you, monsieur."
"Well, then, try to understand me." The prisoner looked fixedly at Aramis. "Sometimes it seems to me," said the latter, "that I have before me the man whom I seek, and then—"
"And then your man disappears—is it not so?" said the prisoner, smiling. "So much the better."
Aramis rose. "Certainly," said he; "I have nothing further to say to a man who mistrusts me as you do."
"And I, monsieur," said the prisoner, in the same tone, "have nothing to say to a man who will not understand that a prisoner ought to be mistrustful of everybody."
"Even of his old friends?" said Aramis. "Oh, monseigneur, you aretooprudent!"
"Of my old friends?—you one of my old friends—you?"
"Do you no longer remember," said Aramis, "that you once saw in the village where your early years were spent—"
"Do you know the name of the village?" asked the prisoner.
"Noisy-le-Sec, monseigneur," answered Aramis, firmly.
"Go on," said the young man, with an immovable aspect.
"Stay, monseigneur," said Aramis; "if you are positively resolved to carry on this game, let us break off. I am here to tell you many things, 'tis true; but you must allow me to see that, on your side, you have a desire to know them. Before revealing the important matters I conceal, be assured I am in need of some encouragement, if not candor; a little sympathy, if no confidence. But you keep yourself intrenched in a pretended ignorance which paralyzes me. Oh, not for the reason you think; for, ignorant as you may be, or indifferent as you feign to be, you are none the less what you are, monseigneur, and there is nothing—nothing, mark me! which can cause you not to be so."
"I promise you," replied the prisoner, "to hear you without impatience. Only it appears to me that I have a right to repeat the question I have already asked—'Whoareyou?'"
"Do you remember, fifteen or eighteen years ago, seeing at Noisy-le-Sec a cavalier, accompanied by a lady in black silk, with flame-colored ribbons in her hair?"
"Yes," said the young man; "I once asked the name of this cavalier, and they told me he called himself the Abbe d'Herblay. I was astonished that the abbe had so warlike an air, and they replied that there was nothing singular in that, seeing that he was one of Louis XIII.'s musketeers."
"Well," said Aramis, "that musketeer and abbe, afterward bishop of Vannes, is your confessor now."
"I know it; I recognized you."
"Then, monseigneur, if you know that, I must further add a fact of which you are ignorant—that if the king were to know this evening of the presence of this musketeer, this abbe, this bishop, this confessor,here—he, who has risked everything to visit you, would to-morrow see glitter the executioner's ax at the bottom of a dungeon more gloomy and more obscure than yours."
While hearing these words, delivered with emphasis, the young man had raised himself on his couch and gazed more and more eagerly at Aramis.
The result of this scrutiny was that he appeared to derive some confidence from, it. "Yes," he murmured, "I remember perfectly. The woman of whom you speak came once with you, and twice afterward with another." He hesitated.
"With another woman, who came to see you every month—is it not so, monseigneur?"—"Yes."
"Do you know who this lady was?"
The light seemed ready to flash from the prisoner's eyes. "I am aware that she was one of the ladies of the court," he said.
"You remember that lady well, do you not?"
"Oh, my recollection can hardly be very confused on this head," said the young prisoner. "I saw that lady once with a gentleman about forty-five years old. I saw her once with you, and with the lady dressed in black. I have seen her twice since with the same person. These four people, with my master, and old Perronnette, my jailer, and the governor of the prison, are the only persons with whom I have ever spoken, and, indeed, almost the only persons I have ever seen."
"Then, you were in prison?"
"If I am a prisoner here, there I was comparatively free, although in a very narrow sense—a house which I never quitted, a garden surrounded with walls I could not clear, these constituted my residence; but you know it, as you have been there. In a word, being accustomed to live within these bounds, I never cared to leave them. And so you will understand, monsieur, that not having seen any thing of the world, I have nothing left to care for; and, therefore, if you relate anything, you will be obliged to explain everything to me."
"And I will do so," said Aramis, bowing, "for it is my duty, monseigneur."
"Well, then, begin by telling me who was my tutor."
"A worthy, and, above all, an honorable gentleman, monseigneur; fit guide both for body and soul. Had you ever any reason to complain of him?"
"Oh, no; quite the contrary. But this gentleman of yours often used to tell me that my father and mother were dead. Did he deceive me, or did he speak the truth?"
"He was compelled to comply with the orders given him."
"Then he lied?"
"In one respect. Your father is dead."
"And my mother?"
"She is dead for you."
"But then she lives for others, does she not?"
"Yes."
"And I—and I, then" (the young man looked sharply at Aramis), "am compelled to live in the obscurity of a prison?"
"Alas! I fear so."
"And that, because my presence in the world would lead to the revelation of a great secret?"
"Certainly, a very great secret."
"My enemy must indeed be powerful, to be able to shut up in the Bastille a child such as I then was."
"He is."
"More powerful than my mother, then?"
"And why do you ask that?"
"Because my mother would have taken my part."
Aramis hesitated. "Yes, monseigneur; more powerful than your mother."
"Seeing, then, that my nurse and preceptor were carried off, and that I, also, was separated from them—either they were, or I am, very dangerous to my enemy?"
"Yes; a peril from which he freed himself, by causing the nurse and preceptor to disappear," answered Aramis quietly.
"Disappear!" cried the prisoner—"but how did they disappear?"
"In the surest possible way," answered Aramis;—"they are dead."
The young man turned visibly pale, and passed his hand tremblingly over his face. "From poison?" he asked.
"From poison."
The prisoner reflected a moment. "My enemy must indeed have been very cruel, or hard beset by necessity, to assassinate those two innocent people, my sole support; for the worthy gentleman and the poor nurse had never harmed a living being."
"In your family, monseigneur, necessity is stern. And so it is necessity which compels me, to my great regret, to tell you that this gentleman and the unhappy lady have been assassinated."
"Oh, you tell me nothing I am not aware of," said the prisoner, knitting his brows.
"How?"
"I suspected it."
"Why?"
"I will tell you."
At this moment the young man, supporting himself on his two elbows, drewclose to Aramis' face, with such an expression of dignity, of self-command, and of defiance even, that the bishop felt the electricity of enthusiasm strike in devouring flashes from that seared heart of his, into his brain of adamant.
"Speak, monseigneur. I have already told you that, by conversing with you, I endanger my life. Little value as it has, I implore you to accept it as the ransom of your own."
"Well," resumed the young man, "this is why I suspected that they had killed my nurse and my preceptor."
"Whom you used to call your father."
"Yes; whom I called my father, but whose son I well knew I was not."
"Who caused you to suppose so?"
"For the same reason that you, monsieur, are too respectful for a friend, he was also too respectful for a father."
"I, however," said Aramis, "have no intention to disguise myself."
The young man nodded assent, and continued:—"Undoubtedly, I was not destined to perpetual seclusion," said the prisoner; "and that which makes me believe so, above all, now, is the care that was taken to render me as accomplished a cavalier as possible. The gentleman attached to my person taught me everything he knew himself—mathematics, a little geometry, astronomy, fencing, and riding. Every morning I went through military exercises, and practiced on horseback. Well, one morning during summer, it being very hot, I went to sleep in the hall. Nothing up to that period, except the respect paid me, had enlightened me, or even roused my suspicions. I lived as children, as birds, as plants, as the air and the sun do. I had just turned my fifteenth year—"
"This, then, is eight years ago?"
"Yes, nearly; but I have ceased to reckon time."
"Excuse me; but what did your tutor tell you to encourage you to work?"
"He used to say that a man was bound to make for himself in the world, that fortune which Heaven had refused him at his birth. He added, that, being a poor obscure orphan, I had no one but myself to look to; and that nobody either did, or ever would, take any interest in me. I was then in the hall I have spoken of, asleep from fatigue in fencing. My preceptor was in his room on the first floor, just over me. Suddenly I heard him exclaim: and then he called, 'Perronnette! Perronnette!' It was my nurse whom he called."
"Yes; I know it," said Aramis. "Continue, monseigneur."
"Very likely she was in the garden; for my preceptor came hastily downstairs. I rose, anxious at seeing him anxious. He opened the garden-door, still crying out, 'Perronnette! Perronnette!' The windows of the hall looked into the court; the shutters were closed; but through a chink in them I saw my tutor draw near a large well, which was almost directly under the windows of his study. He stooped over the brim, looked into the well, again cried out, and made wild and affrighted gestures. Where I was, I could not only see, but hear—and see and hear I did."
"Go on, I pray you," said Aramis.
"Dame Perronnette came running up, hearing the governor's cries. He went to meet her, took her by the arm, and drew her quickly toward the edge; after which, as they both bent over it together, 'Look, look,' cried he, 'what a misfortune!'
"'Calm yourself, calm yourself,' said Perronnette; 'what is the matter?'
"'The letter!' he exclaimed; 'do you see that letter?' pointing to the bottom of the well.
"'What letter?' she cried.
"'The letter you see down there; the last letter from the queen.'
"At this word I trembled. My tutor—he who passed for my father, he who was continually I recommending me modesty and humility—in correspondence with the queen!
"'The queen's last letter!' cried Perronnette, without showing more astonishment than at seeing this letter at the bottom of the well; 'but how came it there?'
"'A chance, Dame Perronnette—a singular chance. I was entering my room, and on opening the door, the window, too, being open, a puff of air came suddenly and carried off this paper—this letter of her majesty's; I darted after it, and gained the window just in time to see it flutter a moment in the breeze and disappear down the well.'
"'Well,' said Dame Perronnette; 'and if the letter has fallen into the well, 'tis all the same as if it was burned; and as the queen burns all her letters every time she comes—'
"And so you see this lady who came every month was the queen," said the prisoner.
"'Doubtless, doubtless,' continued the old gentleman; 'but this letter contained instructions—how can I follow them?'
"'Write immediately to her; give her a plain account of the accident, and the queen will no doubt write you another letter in place of this.'
"'Oh! the queen would never believe the story,' said the good gentleman, shaking his head; 'she will imagine that I want to keep this letter instead of giving it up like the rest, so as to have a hold over her. She is so distrustful, and M. de Mazarin so—. This devil of an Italian is capable of having us poisoned at the first breath of suspicion.'"
Aramis almost imperceptibly smiled.
"'You know, Dame Perronnette, they are both so suspicious in all that concerns Philippe.'
"'Philippe' was the name they gave me," said the prisoner.
"'Well, 'tis no use hesitating,' said Dame Perronnette, 'somebody must go down the well.'
"'Of course; so that the person who goes down may read the paper as he is coming up.'
"'But let us choose some villager who cannot read, and then you will be at ease.'
"'Granted; but will not any one who descends guess that a paper must be important for which we risk a man's life? However, you have given me an idea, Dame Perronnette; somebody shall go down the well, but that somebody shall be myself.'
"But at this notion Dame Perronnette lamented and cried in such a manner, and so implored the old nobleman, with tears in her eyes, that he promised her to obtain a ladder long enough to reach down, while she went in search of some stout-hearted youth, whom she was to persuade that a jewel had fallen into the well, and that this jewel was wrapped in a paper. 'And as paper,' remarked my preceptor, 'naturally unfolds in water, the young man would not be surprised at finding nothing after all, but the letter wide open.'
"'But perhaps the writing will be already effaced by that time,' said Dame Perronnette.
"'No consequence, provided we secure the letter. On returning it to the queen, she will see at once that we have not betrayed her; and consequently, as we shall not rouse the distrust of Mazarin, we shall have nothing to fear from him.'
"Having come to this resolution, they parted. I pushed back the shutter, and, seeing that my tutor was about to re-enter, I threw myself on my couch, in a confusion of brain caused by all I had just heard. My governor opened the door a few moments after, and thinking I was asleep, gently closed it again. As soon as ever it was shut, I rose, and, listening, heard the sound of retiring footsteps. Then I returned to the shutter, and saw my tutor and Dame Perronnette go out together. I was alone in the house. They had hardly closed the gate before I sprang from the window and ran to the well. Then, just as my governor had leaned over, so leaned I. Something white and luminous glistened in the green and quivering ripples of the water. The brilliant disk fascinated and allured me; my eyes became fixed, and I could hardly breathe. The well seemed to draw me in with its large mouth and icy breath; and I thought I read, at the bottom of the water, characters of fire traced upon the letter the queen had touched. Then, scarcely knowing what I was about, and urged on by one of those instinctive impulses which drive men upon their destruction, I lowered the cord from thewindlass of the well to within about three feet of the water, leaving the bucket dangling, and at the same time taking infinite pains not to disturb that coveted letter, which was beginning to change its white tint for a greenish hue—proof enough that it was sinking—and then, with the rope weltering in my hands, slid down into the abyss.
"When I saw myself hanging over the dark pool, when I saw the sky lessening above my head, a cold shudder came over me, a chill fear got the better of me, I was seized with giddiness, and the hair rose on my head; but my strong will still reigned supreme over all the terror and disquietude. I gained the water, and at once plunged into it, holding on by one hand, while I immersed the other and seized the dear letter, which, alas! came in two in my grasp. I concealed the two fragments in my body-coat, and helping myself with my feet against the side of the pit, and clinging on with my hands, agile and vigorous as I was, and, above all, pressed for time, I regained the brink, drenching it as I touched it with the water that streamed off me. I was no sooner out of the well with my prize, than I rushed into the sunlight, and took refuge in a kind of shrubbery at the bottom of the garden. As I entered my hiding-place, the bell which resounded when the great gate was opened, rang. It was my preceptor come back again. I had but just time. I calculated that it would take ten minutes before he would gain my place of concealment even if, guessing where I was, he came straight to it; and twenty if he were obliged to look for me. But this was time enough to allow me to read the cherished letter, whose fragments I hastened to unite again. The writing was already fading, but I managed to decipher it all."
"And what read you there, monseigneur?" asked Aramis, deeply interested.
"Quite enough, monsieur, to see that my tutor was a man of noble rank, and that Perronnette, without being a lady of quality, was far better than a servant; and also to perceive that I must myself be high-born, since the queen, Anne ofAustria, and Mazarin, the prime minister, commended me so earnestly to their care." Here the young man paused, quite overcome.