 Chapter 97 of the D'Artagnan Romance's Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson, this Librivox recording is in the public domain. The King's Card Table Phuket was present as D'Artagnan had said at the King's Card Table. It seemed as if Buckingham's departure had shed a balm on the lacerated hearts of the previous evening. Monsieur, radiant with the light, made a thousand affectionate signs to his mother. The Count de Guiche could not separate himself from Buckingham, and, while playing, converse with him upon the circumstance of his projected voyage. Buckingham, thoughtful and kind in his manner, like a man who has adopted a resolution, listened to the Count, and from time to time cast a look full of regret and hopeless affection at Madame. The Princess, in the midst of her elation of spirits, divided her attention between the King, who was playing with her, Monsieur, who quietly joked her about her enormous winnings, and de Guiche, who exhibited an extravagant delight. Of Buckingham she took but little notice. For her, this fugitive, this exile, was now simply a remembrance, no longer a man. Light hearts are thus constituted while they themselves continue untouched. They roughly break off with everyone who may possibly interfere with their little calculations of selfish comfort. Madame had received Buckingham's smiles and attentions and sighs while he was present, but what was the good of sighing, smiling and kneeling at a distance? Can one tell in what direction the winds and the channel, which toss mighty vessels to and fro, carry such sighs as these? The Duke could not fail to mark this change, and his heart was cruelly hurt. Of a sensitive character, proud and susceptible of deep attachment, he cursed the day on which such a passionate entered his heart. The looks he cast from time to time at Madame became colder by degrees at the chilling complexion of his thoughts. He could hardly yet despair, but he was strong enough to impose silence upon the tumultuous outcries of his heart. In exact proportion, however, as Madame suspected this change of feeling, she redoubled her activity to regain the ray of light she was about to lose. Her timid and indecisive mind was displayed in brilliant flashes of wit and humour. At any cost, she felt that she must be remarked above everything and everyone, even above the King himself. And she was so, for the Queens notwithstanding their dignity and the King, despite the respect which etiquette required, were all eclipsed by her. The Queens, stately and ceremonious, were softened and could not restrain their laughter. Madame Henrietta, the Queen mother, was dazzled by the brilliancy which cast distinction upon her family thanks to the wit of the granddaughter of Henry IV. The King, jealous as a young man and as a monarch, of the superiority of those who surrounded him could not resist admitting himself vanquished by a petulant so thoroughly French in its nature, whose energy was more than ever increased by English humour. Like a child, he was captivated by her radiant beauty which her wit made still more dazzling. Madame's eyes flashed like lightning. Wit and humour escaped from her scarlet lips like persuasion from the lips of nester of old. The whole court, subdued by her enchanting grace, noticed for the first time that laughter could be indulged in before the greatest monarch in the world, like people who merited their appellation of the wittiest and most polished people in Europe. Madame, from that evening, achieved and enjoyed a success capable of bewildering all not born to those altitudes termed thrones, which in spite of their elevation are sheltered from such giddiness. From that very moment Louis XIV acknowledged Madame as a person to be recognized. Buckingham regarded her as a caquette deserving the cruelest tortures and the guiche looked upon her as a divinity. The courtiers as a star whose light might some day become the focus of all favour and power. And yet Louis XIV, a few years previously, had not even condescended to offer his hand to that ugly girl for a ballet. And Buckingham had worshipped this caquette on both knees. The guiche had once looked upon this divinity as a mere woman, and the courtiers had not dared to extol this star in her upward progress, fearful to discuss the monarch whom such a dull star had formerly displeased. Let us see what was taking place during this memorable evening at the king's card table. The young queen, although Spanish by birth, and the niece of Anne of Austria loved the king, and could not conceal her affection. Anne of Austria, a keen observer like all women and imperious, like every queen, was sensible of Madame's power, and acquiesced in it immediately, a circumstance which induced the young queen to raise the siege and retire to her apartments. The king hardly paid any attention to her departure, not with standingly pretended symptoms of indisposition by which it was accompanied. Encouraged by the rules of etiquette which he had begun to introduce at the court as an element of every relation of life, Louis XIV did not disturb himself. He offered his hand to Madame without looking at Monsieur, his brother, and led the young princess to the door of her apartments. It was remarked that at the threshold of the door his majesty freed from every restraint, or not equal to the situation, sighed very deeply. The ladies present, for nothing escapes a woman's glance. Man was held to Montelet, for instance, did not fail to say to each other, the king sighed. And Madame sighed, too. This had been indeed the case. Madame had sighed very noiselessly, but with an accompaniment very far more dangerous for the king's repose. Madame had sighed, first closing her beautiful black eyes, next opening them, and then laden as they were with an indescribable mournfulness of expression. She had raised them toward the king whose face at that moment visibly heightened in colour. The consequence of these blushes, of these interchanged sighs, and of this royal agitation was that Montelet had committed an indiscretion which had certainly affected her companion, for mademoiselle de la Valière, less clear-sighted perhaps turned pale when the king blushed, and her attendance being required upon Madame, she tremblingly followed the princess without thinking of taking the gloves, which court etiquette required her to do. True it is that this young country girl might have led just her excuse the agitation into which the king seemed to be thrown, for mademoiselle de la Valière, visibly engaged in closing the door, had involuntarily fixed her eyes upon the king, who, as he retired backwards, had his face toward it. The king returned to the room where the card tables were set out. He wished to speak to the different persons there, but it was easy to see that his mind was absent. He jumbled different accounts together, which was taken advantage of by some of the noblemen who had retained these habits since the time of M. Mazarin, who had a poor memory, but was a good calculator. In this way M. Manicamp, with a thoughtless and absent air, for M. Manicamp was the honestest man in the world appropriated twenty thousand franc, which were littering the table in which did not seem to belong to any person in particular. In the same way M. de Ward, whose head was doubtless a little bewildered by the occurrences of the evening, somehow forgot to leave behind him the sixty-double Louis which he had won for the Duke of Buckingham, and which the Duke incapable like his father of soiling his hands with coin of any sort, had left lying on the table before him. The king only recovered his attention in some degree at the moment that M. Colbert, who had been narrowly observant for some minutes approached and doubtless with great respect, yet with much perseverance, whispered a counsel of some sort into the still-tingling ears of the king. The king at the suggestion listened with renewed attention and immediately looking around him said, Is M. Fouquet no longer here? Yes, sir, I am here," replied the superintendent, to then engage with Buckingham and approach the king who advanced the step toward him with a smiling yet negligent air. Forgive me," said Louis, if I interrupt your conversation, but I claim your attention wherever I may require your services. I am always at the king's service," replied Fouquet. And your cash-box, too," said the king, laughing with a false smile. My cash-box more than anything else, said Fouquet coldly. The fact is, I wish to give a fat at Fontainebleau, to keep open house for fifteen days, and I shall require," and he stopped, glancing at Colbert. Fouquet waited without showing discomposure, and the king resumed, answering Colbert's icy smile. Four million, Frank. Four million," repeated Fouquet, bowing profoundly, and his nails, buried in his bosom, were thrust into his flesh, but the tranquil expression of his face remained unaltered. When will they be required, Sire? Take your time—I mean, no, no, as soon as possible. A certain time will be necessary, Sire. Time! exclaimed Colbert triumphantly. The time, Mr.—said the superintendent, with the haughtiest disdain, simply to count the money, a million can only be drawn and weighed in a day. Four days, then, said Colbert. My clerks," replied Fouquet, addressing himself to the king, will perform wonders on his majesty's service, and the sum shall be ready in three days. It was for Colbert now to turn pale. Louis looked at him astonished. Fouquet withdrew without any parade or weakness, smiling at his numerous friends in whose countenances alone he read the sincerity of their friendship, an interest partaking of compassion. Fouquet, however, should not be judged by his smile, for in reality he felt, as if he had been stricken by death. Drops of blood beneath his coat stained the fine linen that clothed his chest. His dress concealed the blood in his smile, the rage which devoured him. His domestics perceived by the manner in which he approached his carriage that their master was not in the best of humours. The result of their discernment was that his orders were executed with that exactitude of maneuver which is found on board a man of war, commanded during a storm by an ill-tempered captain. The carriage, therefore, did not simply roll along, it flew. Fouquet had hardly time to recover himself during the drive. On his arrival he went at once to Aramis, who had not yet retired for the night. As for Portos, he had supped very agreeably off a roast leg of mutton, two pheasants and a perfect heap of crayfish. He then directed his body to be anointed with perfumed oils in the manner of the wrestlers of old, and when this anointment was completed he had himself wrapped in flannels and placed in a warm bed. Aramis, as we have already said, had not retired. Sated at his ease in a velvet dressing gown, he wrote letter after letter in that fine and hurried handwriting, a page of which contained a quarter of a volume. The door was thrown hurriedly open and the superintendent appeared pale, agitated, anxious. Aramis looked up. Good evening! said he, and his searching look detected his host sadness and disordered state of mind. Was your play as good as his majesty's? asked Aramis by way of beginning the conversation. Fouquet threw himself upon a couch and then pointed to the door to the servant who had followed him. When the servant had left he said, excellent. Aramis, who had followed every movement with his eyes, noticed that he stretched himself upon the cushions with a sort of feverish impatience. You have lost as usual. Enquired Aramis with his pen still in his hand. Even more than usual replied Fouquet. You know how to support losses. Sometimes. What? Mr. Fouquet a bad player? There is play and play, Mr. Debley. How much have you lost? Enquired Aramis with a slight uneasiness. Fouquet collected himself a moment and then, without the slightest emotion, said, this evening has cost me four millions. And a bitter laugh drowned the last vibration of these words. Aramis, who did not expect such an amount, dropped his pen. Four millions? He said. You have lost four millions. Impossible. Mr. Colbert held my cards for me. Replied the superintendent with a similar bitter laugh. Ah, now I understand. So, so, a new application for funds. Yes, and from the king's own lips. It was impossible to ruin a man with a more charming smile. What do you think of it? It is clear that your destruction is the object in view. That is your opinion. Still, besides, there is nothing in it which should astonish you, for we have foreseen it all along. Yes, but I did not expect four millions. No doubt. The amount is serious, but, after all, four millions are not quite the death of a man, especially when the man in question is Mr. Fouquet. My dear Derbley, if you knew the contents of my coffers, it would be less easy. And you promised. What could I do? That's true. The very day I refuse, Colbert will procure the money, wence I know not, but he will procure it, and I shall be lost. There is no doubt of that. In how many days did you promise these four millions? In three days, the king seemed exceedingly pressed. In three days? When I think, resumed Fouquet, that just now, as I passed along the streets, the people cried out, there is the rich Mr. Fouquet. It is enough to turn my brain. Stay, monsieur. The matter is not worth so much trouble. Said Erumus calmly, sprinkling some sand over the letter he had just written. Suggest a remedy, then, for this evil without a remedy. There is only one remedy for you. Pay. But it is very uncertain whether I have the money. Everything must be exhausted. Belial is paid for. The pension has been paid, and money since the investigation of the accounts of those who farm the revenue is scarce. Besides, admitting that I pay this time, how can I do so on another occasion? When kings have tasted money, they are like tigers who have tasted flesh. They devour everything. The day will arrive, must arrive. When I shall have to say impossible, Sire, and on that very day I am a lost man. Erumus raised his shoulder slightly, saying, A man in your position, my lord, is only lost when he wishes to be so. A man, whatever his position may be, cannot hope to struggle against a king. Nonsense. When I was young, I wrestled successfully with the Cardinal Richelieu, who was King of France, nay, more Cardinal. Where are my armies, my troops, my treasures? I have not even Belial. Bah! Necessity is the mother of invention, and when you think all is lost, something will be discovered which will retrieve everything. Who will discover this wonderful something? Yourself? I? I resign my office of inventor. Then I will. Be it so, but set to work without delay. Oh, we have time enough. You killed me, dear play, with your calmness, said the superintendent, passing his handkerchief over his face. Do you not remember that one day I told you not to make yourself uneasy if you possessed courage? Have you any? I believe so. Then don't make yourself uneasy. It is decided, then, that at the last moment you will come to my assistance. It will only be the repayment of a debt I owe you. It is the vocation of financiers to anticipate the wants of men, such as yourself, dear play. If obligingness is the vocation of financiers, charity is the virtue of the clergy. Only, on this occasion, do you act, monsieur. You are not yet sufficiently reduced, and at the last moment we shall see what is to be done. We shall see, then, in a very short time. Very well. However, permit me to tell you that personally, I regret exceedingly that you are at present so short of money, because I was myself about to ask you for some. For yourself? For myself? For some of my people? For mine, or for ours? How much do you want? Be easy on that score. A round is some. It is true, but not too exorbitant. Tell me the amount. Fifty-thousand franc? Oh, a mere nothing. Of course, one is always fifty-thousand franc. Why, the deuce cannot that knave cold bear be as easily satisfied as you are, and I should give myself far less trouble than I do. When do you need this sum? Tomorrow morning, but you wish to know its destination. Nay, nay, chef Ayay, I need no explanation. Tomorrow is the first of June. Well, one of our bonds becomes due. I did not know we had any bond. Certainly, tomorrow we pay our last third installment. What third? One of the hundred-and-fifty-thousand franc of Bayes-Moll. Bayes-Moll? Who is he? The Governor of the Bastille? Yes, I remember. On what grounds am I to pay one hundred and fifty-thousand franc for that man? On account of the appointment which he or rather we purchased from Louvière in Tremblay. I have a very vague recollection of the matter. That is likely enough, for you have so many affairs to attend to. However, I do not believe you have any affair in the world of greater importance than this one. Tell me, Ben, why we purchased this appointment? Why, in order to render him a service in the first place, and afterwards ourselves? Ourselves? You are joking. Monsignor, the time may come when the Governor of the Bastille may prove a very excellent acquaintance. I have not the good fortune to understand you, Derpley. Monsignor, we had our own poets, our own engineer, our own architect, our own musicians, our own printer, and our own painters. We needed our own Governor of the Bastille. Do you think so? Let us not deceive ourselves, Monsignor. We are very much opposed to paying the Bastille a visit. Adding the prelate displaying beneath his pale lips teeth, which were still the same beautiful teeth so much admired thirty years previously by Marie-Michel. And you think it is not too much to pay one hundred and fifty-thousand franc for that? I thought you generally put out money at better interest than that. The day will come when you will admit your mistake. My dear Derpley, the very day on which a man enters the Bastille, he is no longer protected by his past. Yes, he is, if the bonds are perfectly regular. Besides, that good fellow Bayes-Moe has not a courtier's heart. I am certain, my Lord, that he will not remain ungrateful for that money. Without ticking into account, I repeat that I retain the acknowledgments. It is a strange affair, usury in a matter of benevolence. Do not make yourself up with it, Monsignor. If there be usury, it is I who practice it, and both of us reap the advantage from it. That is all. Some intrigue, Derpley. I do not deny it. And Bayes-Moe an accomplice in it. Why not? There are worse accomplices than he. May I depend then upon the five thousand Bastille tomorrow? Do you want them this evening? It would be better, for I wish to start early. Poor Bayes-Moe will not be able to imagine when it has become of me, and must be upon thorns. You shall have the amount in an hour. Ah, Derpley, the interest of one of your hundred and fifty thousand francs will never pay my four millions for me. Why not, Monsignor? Good night. I have business to transact with my clerks before I retire. A good night's rest, Monsignor. Derpley, you wish things that are impossible. Shall I have my fifty thousand franc this evening? Yes. Go to sleep, then, in perfect safety. It is I who tell you to do so. Notwithstanding this assurance and the tone in which it was given, Fouquet left the room shaking his head and heaving a sigh. End of Chapter 97, Recording by John Van Stans of Anna, Georgia. Chapter 98 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Monsieur Bayes Maud Montalazune's Accounts The clock of St. Paul was striking seven as Aramis, on horseback, dressed as a simple citizen, that is to say in coloured suit with no distinctive mark about him, except a kind of hunting-knife by his side, passed before the rude petite muse, and stopped opposite the rude d'attorelle at the gate of the Bastille. Two sentinels were on duty at the gate, and they made no difficulty about admitting Aramis who entered without dismounting, and they pointed out the way he was to go by a long passage with buildings on both sides. This passage led to the drawbridge, or, in other words, to the real entrance. The drawbridge was down, and the duty of the day was about being entered upon. The sentinel at the outer guardhouse stopped Aramis's further progress, asking him in a rough tone of voice what had brought him there. Aramis explained with his usual politeness that a wish to speak to Monsieur Bayes Zune had occasioned his visit. The first sentinel then summoned a second sentinel, stationed within an inner lodge, who showed his face at the grating, and inspected the new arrival most attentively. Aramis reiterated the expression of his wish to see the governor, whereupon the sentinel called to an officer of lower grade who was walking about in a tolerably spacious courtyard, and who, in turn, on being informed of his object, ran to seek one of the officers of the governor's staff. The latter, having listened to Aramis's request, begged him to wait a moment, then went away a short distance, but returned to ask his name. I cannot tell it you, Monsieur, said Aramis. I need only mention that I have matters of such importance to communicate to the governor, that I can only rely beforehand upon one thing, that Monsieur de Bezmo will be delighted to see me. Nay, more than that, when you have told him that it is the person whom he expected on the first of June, I am convinced he will hasten here himself. The officer could not possibly believe that a man of the governor's importance should put himself out for a person of so little importance as the citizen-looking visitor on horseback. It happens most fortunately, Monsieur, he said, that the governor is just going out, and you can perceive his carriage with the horses already harnessed in the courtyard yonder. There will be no occasion for him to come to meet you, as he will see you as he passes by. Aramis bowed to signify his assent. He did not wish to inspire others with too exalted an opinion of himself, and therefore waited patiently and in silence, leaning upon the saddle-bow of his horse. Ten minutes had hardly elapsed when the governor's carriage was observed to move. The governor appeared at the door and got into the carriage, which immediately prepared to start. The same ceremony was observed for the governor himself, as with a suspected stranger. The sentinel at the lodge advanced as the carriage was about to pass under the arch, and the governor opened the carriage door, himself setting the example of obedience to orders, so that, in this way, the sentinel could convince himself that no one quitted the best deal improperly. The carriage rolled along under the archway, but at the moment the iron gate was opened, the officer approached the carriage, which had been again stopped, and said something to the governor, who immediately put his head out of the doorway and perceived Aramis on horseback at the end of the drawbridge. He immediately uttered almost a shout of delight and got out, or rather darted out of his carriage, running toward Aramis, whose hands he seized, making a thousand apologies. He almost embraced him. What a difficult matter to enter the Bastille, said Aramis. Is it the same for those who are sent here against their wills, as for those who come of their own accord? A thousand pardons, my lord! How delighted I am to see your grace! Hush! What are you thinking of, my dear Monsieur Bezmo? What do you suppose would be thought of a bishop in my present costume? Pray, excuse me, I've forgotten. Take this gentleman's horse to the stables, cried Bezmo. No, no, said Aramis. I have five thousand bestorles in the saddlebags. The governor's countenance became so radiant that if the prisoners had seen him, they would have imagined some prince of the blood royal had arrived. Yes, you are right. The horse shall be taken to the government house. Will you get into the carriage, my dear Monsieur de Blay, and it shall take us back to my house. Get into a carriage to cross a courtyard? Do you believe I am so great and invalid? No, no. We will go on foot. Bezmo then offered his arm as a support, but the prelate did not accept it. They arrived in this manner at the government house, Bezmo rubbing his hands and glancing at the horse from time to time, while Aramis was looking at the bleak, bare walls. A tolerably handsome vestibule and staircase of white stone led to the governor's apartments, who crossed the anti-chamber, the dining room, where breakfast was being prepared, opened a small side door and closeted himself with his guest in a large cabinet, the windows of which opened obliquely upon the courtyard and the stables. Bezmo installed the prelate with that all-inclusive politeness of which a good man or a grateful man alone possesses the secret, an armchair, a footstool, a small table beside him, on which to rest his hand. Everything was prepared by the governor himself. With his own hands, too, he placed upon the table with much solicitude, the bag containing the gold which one of the soldiers had brought up with the most respectful devotion, and the soldier having left the room, Bezmo himself closed the door after him, drew aside one of the window-curtains and looked steadfastly at Aramis to see if the prelate required anything further. Well, my lord, he said, still standing up. Of all men of their word, you still continue to be the most punctual. In matters of business, dear Monsieur de Bezmo, exactitude is not a virtue only. It is a duty as well. Yes, in matters of business certainly, but what you have with me is not the character, it is a service you are rendering me. Come, confess, dear Monsieur de Bezmo, that notwithstanding this exactitude, you have not been without a little uneasiness. About your health, I certainly have, stammered out, Bezmo. I wished to come here yesterday, but I was not able, as I was too fatigued. Continued Aramis, Bezmo anxiously slipped another cushion behind his guests back. But, continued Aramis, I promised myself to come and pay you a visit today, early in the morning. You are really very kind, my lord. And it was a good thing for me I was punctual, I think. What do you mean? Yes, you were going out. At which later remark Bezmo colored and said, It is true, I was going out. Then I prevent you, said Aramis, whereupon the embarrassment of Bezmo became visibly greater. I am putting you to inconvenience. He continued, fixing a keen glance upon the poor governor. If I had known that, I should not have come. How can your lordship imagine that you could ever inconvenience me? Confess, you were going in search of money. No, stammered out, Bezmo. No, I assure you I was going to. Does the governor still intend to go to Mr. Fouquet? Suddenly called out the major from below. Bezmo ran to the window like a madman. No, no, he exclaimed in a state of desperation. Who the deuce is speaking of Mr. Fouquet? Are you drunk below there? Why, am I interrupted when I am engaged on business? You were going to Mr. Fouquet's, said Aramis, biting his lip. To Mr. Fouquet, the abbey or the superintendent. Bezmo almost made up his mind to tell an untruth, but he could not summon the courage to do so. To the superintendent, he said. It is true, then, that you were in want of money, since you were going to a person who gives it away. I assure you, my lord, you were afraid. My dear lord, it was the uncertainty and ignorance in which I was as to where you were to be found. You would have found the money you require at Mr. Fouquet's, for he is a man whose hand is always open. I swear that I should never have ventured to ask Mr. Fouquet for money. I only wish to ask him for your address. To ask Mr. Fouquet for my address. Exclaimed Aramis, opening his eyes in real astonishment. Yes, said Bezmo, greatly disturbed by the glance which the Prelate fixed upon him. At Mr. Fouquet's, certainly. There is no harm in that, dear Mr. Bezmo. Only, I would ask, why ask my address of Mr. Fouquet? That I might write to you? I understand, said Aramis, smiling, but that is not what I meant. I do not ask you what you required my address for. I only ask, why should you go to Mr. Fouquet for it? Oh, said Bezmo, is Belial a property of Mr. Fouquet, and as Belial is in the diocese of Van, and as you are Bishop of Van. But, my dear Bezmo, since you knew I was Bishop of Van, you had no occasion to ask Mr. Fouquet for my address. Well, Mr., said Bezmo, completely at bay. If I have acted indiscreetly, I beg your pardon most sincerely. Nonsense, observed Aramis calmly. How can you possibly have acted indiscreetly? And while he composed his face and continued to smile cheerfully to the Governor, he was considering how Bezmo, who was not aware of his address, knew, however, that Van was his residence. I shall clear all this up. He said to himself, and then speaking aloud, added, Well, my dear Governor, shall we now arrange our little accounts? I am at your order as my Lord, but tell me beforehand, my Lord, whether you will do me the honor to breakfast with me as usual. Very willingly indeed. That's well, said Bezmo, and he struck the bell before him three times. What does that mean? Inquired Aramis. That I have someone to breakfast with me and that preparations are to be made accordingly. And you rang thrice. Really, my dear Governor, I begin to think you are acting ceremoniously with me. No, indeed. Besides, the least I can do is to receive you in the best way I can. But why so? Because not even a prince could have done what you have done for me. Nonsense. Nonsense. Nay, I assure you. Let us speak of other matters, said Aramis, or rather, tell me how your affairs here are getting on. Not over well. The deuce. Monsieur de Maserine was not hard enough. Yes, I see. You require a government full of suspicion, like that of the old Cardinal, for instance. Yes, matters went on better under him. The brother of his grey eminence made his fortune here. Believe me, my dear Governor, said Aramis, drawing closer to Bezmo. A young king is well worth an old Cardinal. Youth has its suspicions, its fits of anger, its prejudices, as old age has its hatreds, its precautions, and its fears. Have you paid your three years' profits to Louvier and Tremblay? Most certainly I have. So that you have nothing more to give them than the 50,000 franc I have brought with me. Nothing. Have you not saved anything then? My lord, in giving the 50,000 franc of my own to these gentlemen, I assure you that I give them everything I gain. I told Monsieur D'Artagnan so yesterday evening. Ah, said Aramis, whose eyes sparkled for a moment, but became immediately afterwards as unmoved as before. So you have seen my old friend D'Artagnan. How was he? Wonderfully well. And what did you say to him, Monsieur de Bezmo? I told him, continued the Governor not perceiving his own thoughtlessness, I told him that I fed my prisoners too well. How many have you? Inquired Aramis, and an indifferent tone of voice. Sixty? Well, that is a tolerably round number. In former times, my lord, there were, during certain years, as many as two hundred. Still, a minimum of sixty is not to be grumbled at. Perhaps not, for to anybody but myself, each prisoner would bring in two hundred and fifty bestoles, for instance, for a prince of the blood I have fifty franc a day. Only, you have no prince of the blood, at least, I suppose so. Said Aramis with a slight tremor in his voice. No, thank heaven, I mean, no, unfortunately. What do you mean by unfortunately? Because my appointment would be improved by it, so, fifty franc per day for a prince of the blood, thirty-six for a mara-chale of France. But, you have as many mara-chales of France, I suppose, as you have princes of the blood. Alas, no more! It is true, Lieutenant Generals and Brigadiers pay twenty-six franc, and I have two of them. After that come councillors of Parliament who bring me fifteen franc, and I have six of them. I did not know, said Aramis, that councillors were so productive. Yes, but from fifteen franc I sink at once to ten franc, namely, for an ordinary judge, and for an ecclesiastic. And you have seven, you say, an excellent affair. Nay, a bad one, and for this reason. How can I possibly treat these poor fellows who are some good at all events, otherwise than as a councillor of Parliament? Yes, you are right. I do not see five franc difference between them. You understand if I have a fine fish? I pay four of five franc for it. If I get a fine fowl that cost me a franc and a half, I fatten a good deal of poultry, but I have to buy grain, and you cannot imagine the army of rats that infest this place. Why not get half a dozen cats to deal with them? Cats, indeed. Yes, they eat them, but I was obliged to give up the idea because of the way in which they treated my grain. I have been obliged to have some terrier dogs sent me from England to kill the rats. These dogs, unfortunately, have tremendous appetites. They eat as much as a prisoner of the Fifth Order, without taking into account the rabbits and fowls they kill. Was Aramis really listening or not? No one could have told. His downcast eyes showed the attentive man, but the restless hand betrayed the man absorbed in thought. Aramis was meditating. I was saying, continued Bezmo, that a good-sized fowl cost me a franc and a half, and that a fine fish cost me four or five franc. Three meals are served at the best deal, and as the prisoners have nothing to do or always eating, a ten franc man cost me seven franc and a half. But did you not say that you treated those at ten franc like those at fifteen? Yes, certainly. Very well. Then you gain seven franc and a half upon those who pay you fifteen franc. I must compensate myself somehow, said Bezmo, who saw how he had been snapped up. You are quite right, my dear governor, but have you no prisoners below ten franc? Oh yes, we have citizens in barristers at five franc. And do they eat, too? Not a doubt about it. Only you understand that they do not get fish or poultry nor rich wines at every meal, but at all events thrice a week they have a good dish at their dinner. Really? You are quite a philanthropist, my dear governor, and you will ruin yourself. No, understand me. When the fifteen franc has not eaten his fowl or the ten franc has left his dish unfinished, I send it to the five franc prisoner. It is a feast for the poor devil, and one must be charitable, you know. And what do you make out of your five franc prisoners? A franc and a half. Bezmo, you are an honest fellow. In honest truth, I say so. Thank you, my lord, but I feel most for the small tradesmen and bailiffs clerks who are rated at three franc. They do not often see rine, carp, or channel sturgeon. But do not the five franc gentlemen sometimes leave some scraps? Oh, my lord, do not believe I am so stingy as that. I delight the heart of some poor little tradesmen or clerk by sending him a wing of a red partridge, a slice of venison or a slice of a truffled pasty, dishes which he never tasted except in his dreams. These are the leavings of the twenty-four franc prisoners, and as he eats and drinks at dessert he cries, long live the king, and blesses the Bastille. With a couple of bottles of champagne which cost me five sous, I make him tipsy every Sunday. That class of people call down blessings upon me and are sorry to leave the prison. Do you know that I have remarked, and it does me infinite honour that certain prisoners who have been set at liberty have almost immediately afterwards got imprisoned again? Why, should this be the case, unless it be to enjoy the pleasures of my kitchen? It is really the fact. Aramis smiled with an expression of incredulity. You smile, said Basemo. I do. Returned Aramis. I will tell you that we have names which have been inscribed on our books thrice in the space of two years. I must see it before I believe it, said Aramis. Well, I can show it to you, although it is prohibited to communicate the registers to strangers. And if you really wish to see it with your own eyes. I should be delighted, I confess. Very well, said Basemo, and he took out of a cupboard a large register. Aramis followed him most anxiously with his eyes, and Basemo returned, placed the register upon the table, and turned over the leaves for a minute, and stayed at the letter M. Look here, said he. Martinier, January 1659, Martinier, June 1660, Martinier, March 1661. Maserine odds, etc. You understand, it was a pretext only. People were not sent to the Bastille for jokes against Mr. Maserine. The fellow denounced himself in order to get imprisoned here. And what was his object? None other than to return to my kitchen at three franc a day. Three franc? Poor devil! The poet, my lord, belongs to the lowest scale, the same style of board as the small tradesmen in Baeliff's clerk, but I repeat, it is to those people only that I give these little surprises. Aramis mechanically turned over the leaves of the register, continuing to read the names, but without appearing to take any interest in the names he read. In 1661 you perceive, said Basemo, 88 entries, and in 1659, 80 also. Ah, said Aramis. Selden, I seem to know that name. Was it not you who spoke to me about a certain young man? Yes, a poor devil of a student who made what do you call that, well, two Latin verses rhyme together? A dystic. Yes, that is it. Poor fellow, for a dystic. Do you know that he made this dystic against her Jesuits? That makes no difference. The punishment seems very severe. Do not pity him. Last year you seemed to interest yourself in him. Yes, I did so. Well, as your interest is all-powerful here, my lord, I have treated him since that time as a prisoner at 15, Frank. The same as this one, then. Said Aramis, who had continued turning over the leaves and would stop at one of the names which followed Martinier. Yes, the same as that one. Is that Machiali and Italian? Said Aramis, pointing with his finger to the name which had attracted his attention. Hush, said Bezmo. Why, hush, said Aramis involuntarily, clenching his white hand. I thought I had already spoken to you about that, Machiali. No, it is the first time I ever heard his name pronounced. That may be, but perhaps I have spoken to you about him without naming him. Is he an old offender? Asked Aramis attempting to smile. On the contrary, he is quite young. Is his crime then very heinous? Unpardonable. He has assassinated anyone? Bah! An incendiary, then. Bah! He has slandered anyone? No, no. It is he who— And Bezmo approached Aramis' ear, making a sort of ear trumpet with his hand, and whispered, It is he who presumes to resemble thee? Yes, yes. Said Aramis, I now remember you already spoke about it last year to me, but the crime appeared to me so slight. Slight, do you say? Or, rather, so involuntary? My lord, it is not involuntarily that such a resemblance is detected. Well, the fact is, I had forgotten it, but my dear host said Aramis closing the register. If I am not mistaken, we are summoned. Bezmo took the register, hastily restored it to its place in the closet, which he locked, and put the key in his pocket. Will it be agreeable to your lordship to breakfast now? Said he, for you are right in supposing that breakfast was announced. Assuredly, my dear governor! And they passed into the dining-room. End of Chapter 98, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia. Chapter 99 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3, Part 1, by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robinson, this LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Breakfast at Monsieur de Bezmo's Aramis was generally temperate, but on this occasion, while taking every care of his constitution, he did ample justice to Bezmo's breakfast, which, in all respects, was most excellent. The latter, on his side, was animated with the wildest gaiety. The sight of the five thousand pistoles, which he glanced at from time to time, seemed to open his heart. Every now and then he looked at Aramis with an expression of the deepest gratitude, while the latter, leaning back in his chair, took a few sips of wine from his glass with an air of a connoisseur. Let me never hear any ill words against the fair of the Bastille, said he, half closing his eyes. Happy are the prisoners who can get only half a bottle of such burgundy every day. All those at fifteen franc drink it, said Bezmo. It is very old, Volnais. Does that poor student Selden drink such wine? Oh, no! I thought I heard you say he was boarded at fifteen franc. He? No, indeed. A man who makes districts, I mean, at fifteen franc. No, no. It is his neighbor who is at fifteen franc. Which neighbor? The other, second Bertardierre. Excuse me, my dear governor, but you speak a language which requires quite an apprenticeship to understand. Very true, said the governor, allow me to explain. Second Bertardierre is the person who occupies the second floor of the tower of the Bertardierre. So that Bertardierre is the name of one of the towers of the Bastille, the fact is, I think I recollect hearing that each tower has a name of its own. Whereabouts is the one you are speaking of? Look, said Bezmo, going to the window. It is that tower to the left, the second one. One? Is the prisoner at fifteen franc there? Yes. Since when? Seven or eight years, nearly. What do you mean by nearly? Do you not know the dates more precisely? It was not my time, Mr. de Blay. But I should have thought the Louvière or Tremblay would have told you. The secrets of the Bastille are never handed over with the keys of the governorship. Indeed. Then the cause of his imprisonment is a mystery, a state secret. Oh no, I do not suppose it is a state secret, but a secret, like everything else that happens at the Bastille. But, said Aramis, why do you speak more freely of Seldon than of second to Bertardierre? Because, in my opinion, the crime of the man who writes a dystic is not so great as that of the man who resembles. Yes, yes, I understand you. Still, do not the turnkeys talk with your prisoners? Of course. The prisoners, I suppose, tell them they are not guilty. They are always telling them that it is a matter of course, the same song over and over again. But does not the resemblance you were speaking about just now strike the turnkeys? My dear Mr. de Blay, it is only for men attached to the court, as you are, to take trouble about such matters. You are right. You're right. My dear Mr. Besmo, let me give you another taste of this Volnais. Not a taste merely a full glass. Fill yours too. Nay, nay, you are a musketeer still, to the very tips of your fingers, while I have become a bishop. A taste for me, a glass for yourself. As you please. And Aramis and the governor nodded to each other as they drank their wine. But, said Aramis, looking with fixed attention at the ruby-colored wine he had raised, to the level of his eyes, as if he wished to enjoy it with all his senses at the same moment. But what you might call a resemblance, another would not perhaps take any notice of. Most certainly he would though, if it were anyone who knew the person he resembles. I really think, dear Mr. Besmo, that it can be nothing more than a resemblance of your own creation. Upon my honor, it is not so. Stay, continued Aramis. I have seen many persons very like the one we are speaking of, but out of respect, no one ever said anything about it. Very likely, because there is resemblance, and resemblance, this is a striking one, and if you were to see him, you would admit it to be so. If I were to see him indeed, said Aramis in an indifferent tone, but in all probability I never shall. Why not? Because, if I were even to put my foot inside one of those horrible dungeons, I should fancy I was buried there forever. No, no, the cells are very good places to live in. I really do not, and cannot believe it, and that is a fact. Pray, do not speak ill of second Bertardier. It is really a good room, very nicely furnished and carpeted. The young fellow has by no means been unhappy there. The best lodging the Bastille affords has been his. There is a chance for you. Nay, nay, said Aramis coldly. You will never make me believe there is any good rooms in the Bastille. And as for your carpets, they exist only in your imagination. I should find nothing but spiders, rats, and perhaps toads, too. Toads! cried Bezemo. Yes, in the dungeons. Ha! I don't say there are not toads in the dungeons! replied Bezemo. But will you be convinced by your own eyes? he continued with a sudden impulse. No, certainly not. Not even to satisfy yourself of the resemblance which you deny as you do the carpets. Some spectral-looking person, a mere shadow, an unhappy dying man. Nothing of the kind as brisk and vigorous young fellow has ever lived. Melancholy and ill-tempered, then. Not at all. Very gay and lively. Nonsense. You are joking. Will you follow me? said Bezemo. What for? To go the round of the Bastille. Why? You will then see for yourself. See with your own eyes. But the regulations? Never mind them. Today my major has a leave of absence. The lieutenant is visiting the post on the Bastions. We are sole masters of the situation. No. No, my dear governor. Why? The very idea of the sound of the bolts makes me shudder. You will only have to forget me in second or fourth, Bertaudier, and then. You are refusing an opportunity that may never present itself again. Do you know that? To obtain the favor I proposed to you, gratis, some of the princes of the blood have offered me as much as 50,000 franc. Really? He must be worth seeing, then. Forbidden fruit, my lord. Forbidden fruit. You who belong to the church ought to know that. Well, if I had any curiosity, it would be to see the poor author of the dystic. Very well. We will see him, too. But if I were at all curious, it would be about the beautiful carpeted room and its larger. Furniture is very commonplace, and a face with no expression in it offers little or no interest. But a border at 15 franc is always interesting. By the by, I forgot to ask you about that. Why 15 franc for him, and only three franc for poor seldom? The distinction made in that instance was a truly noble act, and one which displayed the king's goodness of heart to great advantage. The kings, you say? The cardinals, I mean. This unhappy man, said Mr. Mazarin, is destined to remain in prison forever. Why so? Why, it seems that his crime is a lasting one, and consequently his punishment ought to be so, too. Lasting? No doubt of it, unless he is fortunate enough to catch the smallpox, and even that is difficult, for we never get any impure air here. Nothing can be more genius than your train of reasoning, my dear, Monsieur Debesmo. Do you however mean to say that this unfortunate man must suffer without interruption or termination? I did not say he was to suffer, my lord. A 15 franc border does not suffer. He suffers imprisonment at all events. No doubt, there is no help for that, but this suffering is sweetened for him. You must admit that this young fellow was not born to eat all the good things he does eat. For instance, such things as we have on the table now, this pasty that has not been touched, these crawfish from the river Maan, of which we have hardly taken any, and which are almost as large as lobsters. All these things will at once be taken to Second Bertaudier, with a bottle of that Volnais which you think so excellent. After you have seen it, you will believe it, I hope. Yes, my dear governor, certainly, but all this time you are thinking only of your happy 15 franc prisoner, and you forget poor Selton, my protege. Well, out of consideration for you, it shall be a gala day for him. He shall have some biscuits and preserves, with this small bottle of port. You are a good-hearted fellow, I have said so already, and I repeat it, my dear Baysmoe. Well, let us set off then, said the governor, a little bewildered, partly from the wine he had drunk, and partly from Aramis' praises. Do not forget that I only go to oblige you, said the Prelate. Very well, but you will thank me when you get there. Let us go then. Wait until I have summoned the jailer, said Baysmoe as he struck the bell twice, at which summons a man appeared. I am going to visit the towers, said the governor. No guards, no drums, no noise at all. If I were not to leave my cloak here, said Aramis, pretending to be alarmed, I should really think I was going to prison on my own account. The jailer preceded the governor, Aramis walking on his right hand. Some of the soldiers who happened to be in the courtyard drew themselves up in line, as stiff as posts, as the governor passed along. Baysmoe led the way down several steps which conducted to a sort of esplanade. Thence they arrived at the drawbridge, where the sentinels on duty received the governor with the proper honors. The governor turned toward Aramis, and speaking in such a tone that the sentinels could not lose a word, he observed. I hope you have a good memory, monsieur. Why? inquired Aramis. On account of your plans and your measurements, for you know that no one is allowed, not architects even, to enter where the prisoners are, with paper, pens, or pencils. Good, said Aramis to himself. It seems I am an architect then. It sounds like one of D'Artagnan's jokes, who perceived in me the engineer of Belial. Then he added aloud, Be easy on that score, monsieur. In our profession, a mere glance and a good memory are quite sufficient. Baysmoe did not change countenance, and the soldiers took Aramis for what he seemed to be. Very well. We will first visit La Berthardière. Said Baysmoe, still intending the sentinels to hear him, then turning to the jailer, he added, You will take the opportunity of carrying to number two the few dainties I pointed out. Dear monsieur de Baysmoe, said Aramis, you are always forgetting number three. So I am, said the governor, and upon that they began to ascend. The number of bolts, gratings, and locks for this single courtyard would have suffice for the safety of an entire city. Aramis was neither an imaginative nor sensitive man. He had been somewhat of a poet in his youth, but his heart was hard and indifferent, as the heart of every man of fifty-five years of age is, who has been frequently and passionately attached to women in his lifetime, or rather, who has been passionately loved by them. But when he placed his foot upon the worn stone steps, along which so many unhappy wretches had passed, when he felt himself impregnated as it were with the atmosphere of those gloomy dungeons, moistened with tears, there could be little doubt he was overcome by his feelings, for his head was bowed, and his eyes became dim as he followed Baysmoe without a syllable. Chapter 100 of the D'Artagnan Romances, volume three part one by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson, this Lebovox recording is in the public domain. The Second Floor of La Bertardière. On the second flight of stairs, whether from fatigue or emotion, the breathing of the visitor began to fail him, and he leaned against the wall. Will you begin with this one? said Baysmoe, for since we are going to both, it matters very little whether we ascend from the second to the third story, or descend from the third to the second. No, no, exclaimed Eremus eagerly. Hire, if you please, the one above is the more urgent. They continued their ascent. Ask the jailer for the keys, whispered Eremus. Baysmoe did so, took the keys, and himself opened the door of the third room. The jailer was the first to enter. He placed upon the table the provisions, which the kind-hearted governor called dainties, and then left the room. The prisoner had not stirred. Baysmoe then entered while Eremus remained at the threshold from which place he saw a youth, about eighteen years of age, who raising his head at the unusual noise jumped off the bed as he perceived the governor, and clasping his hands together began to cry out, my mother, my mother. In tones which betrayed such deep distress that Eremus, despite his command over himself, felt a shudder pass to his frame. My dear boy, said Baysmoe, endeavouring to smile, I have brought you a diversion and an extra, the one for the mind, the other for the body. This gentleman has come to take your measure, and here are some preserves for your dessert. Oh, monsieur, exclaimed the young man, keep me in solitude for a year. Let me have nothing but bread and water for a year, but tell me that at the end of a year I shall leave this place. Tell me that at the end of a year I shall see my mother again. But I have heard you say that your mother was very poor, and that you were very badly lodged when you were living with her, while here, upon my word. If you were poor, monsieur, the greater reason to restore her only means of support to her badly lodged with her. Oh, monsieur, everyone is always well lodged when he is free. At all events, since you yourself admit you have done nothing but write that unhappy dystic. But without any intention, I swear, let me be punished. Cut off the hand which wrote it, I will work with the other, but restore my mother to me. My boy, said Bezmo, you know very well that it does not depend upon me. All I can do for you is to increase your rations, give you a glass of port wine now and then, slip in a biscuit for you between a couple of plates. Great heaven! exclaimed the young man, falling backward and rolling on the ground. Aramis unable to bear the scene any longer withdrew as far as the landing. Unhappy wretched man! he murmured. Yes, monsieur, he is indeed very wretched, said the jailer, but it is his parents' fault. In what way? No doubt. Why did they let him learn Latin? Too much knowledge, you see, it is that which does harm. Now I, for instance, can't read or write, and therefore I am not in prison. Aramis looked at the man who seemed to think that being a jailer in the Bastille was not being in prison. As for Bezmo, noticing the little effect produced by his advice in his port wine, he left the dungeon quite upset. You have forgotten to close the door, said the jailer. So I have, said Bezmo. There are the keys. Do you do it? I will solicit the pardon of that poor boy, said Aramis. And if you do not succeed, said Bezmo, at least beg that he may be transferred to the ten franc list, by which both he and I shall be gainers. If the other prisoner calls out for his mother in a similar manner, said Aramis, I prefer not to enter at all, but will take my measure from outside. No fear of that, monsieur architect. The one we are going now to see is as gentle as a lamb. Before he could call after his mother, he must open his lips, and he never says a word. Let us go in, then, said Aramis gloomily. Are you the architect of the prisons, monsieur? said the jailer. I am. It is odd, then, that you are not more accustomed to all this. Aramis perceived that, to avoid giving rise to any suspicions, he must summon all his strength of mind to his assistance. Bezmo, who carried the keys, opened the door. Stay outside, he said to the jailer, and wait for us at the bottom of the steps. The jailer obeyed and withdrew. Bezmo entered first and opened the second door himself. By the light which filtered through the iron-barred window could be seen a handsome young man, short in stature with closely cut hair, and a beard beginning to grow. He was sitting on a stool, his elbow resting on an armchair, and all the upper part of his body reclining against it. His dress, thrown upon the bed, was of rich black velvet, and he inhaled the fresh air which blew in upon his breast through a shirt of the very finest cambrick. As the governor entered, the young man turned his head with a look full of indifference, and on recognizing Bezmo, he arose and saluted him courteously. But when his eyes fell upon Aramis, who remained in the background, the latter trembled, turned pale, and his hat which he held in his hand fell upon the ground as if all his muscles had become relaxed at once. Bezmo, habituated to the presence of his prisoner, did not seem to share any of the sensations which Aramis experienced, but with all the zeal of a good servant he busied himself in arranging on the table the pasty and crawfish he had brought with him. Occupied in this manner, he did not remark how disturbed his guest had become. When he had finished, however, he turned to the young prisoner and said, You are looking very well. Are you so? Quite well. I thank you, mister, replied the young man. The effect of the voice was such as almost to overpower Aramis, and notwithstanding his control over himself, he advanced a few steps toward him, with his eyes wide open and his lips trembling. The movement he made was so marked that Bezmo notwithstanding his preoccupation observed it. This gentleman is an architect who has come to examine your chimney, said Bezmo. Does it smoke? Never, monsieur. You were saying just now, said the governor, rubbing his hands together, that it was not possible for a man to be happy in prison. Here, however, is one who is so. You have nothing to complain of, I hope. Nothing. Do you ever feel weary, said Aramis? Never. said Bezmo in a low tone of voice. Was I right? Well, my dear governor, it is impossible not to yield to evidence. Is it allowed to put any question to him? As many as you like. Very well. Be good enough to ask him if he knows why he is here. This gentleman requests me to ask you, said Bezmo, if you are aware of the cause of your imprisonment. No, monsieur, said the young man unaffectedly. I am not. That is hardly possible, said Aramis, carried away by his feelings in spite of himself. If you were really ignorant of the cause of your detention, you would be furious. I was so during the early days of my imprisonment. Why are you not so now? Because I have reflected. That is strange, said Aramis. Is it not odd, said Bezmo? May one venture to ask you, monsieur, on what you have reflected? I felt that as I had committed no crime, heaven could not punish me. What is a prison, then? inquired Aramis. If it be not a punishment. Alas! I cannot tell, said the young man. All that I can tell you now is the very opposite of what I felt seven years ago. To hear you converse, to witness your resignation, one might almost believe that you liked your imprisonment. I endure it. In the certainty of recovering your freedom some day, I suppose. I have no certainty, hope I have, and that is all. And yet I acknowledge that this hope becomes less every day. Still, why should you not again be free, since you have already been so? That is precisely the reason, replied the young man, which prevents me expecting liberty. Why should I have been imprisoned at all, if it had been intended to release me afterwards? How old are you? I do not know. What is your name? I have forgotten the name by which I was called. Who are your parents? I never knew them. But those who brought you up… They did not call me their son. Did you ever love anyone before coming here? I loved my nurse and my flowers. Was that all? I also loved my valet. Do you regret your nurse and your valet? I wept very much when they died. Did they die since you have been here, or before you came? They died the evening before I was carried off. Both at the same time? Yes, both at the same time. In what manner were you carried off? A man came for me, directed me to get into a carriage, which was closed and locked, and brought me here. Would you be able to recognize that man again? He was masked. Is not this an extraordinary tale? Said Bezmo in a low tone of voice to Aramis, who could hardly breathe. It is indeed extraordinary, he murmured. But what is still more extraordinary is that he has never told me so much as he has just told you. Perhaps the reason may be that you have never questioned him. Said Aramis. It's possible, replied Bezmo. I have no curiosity. Have you looked at the room? It's a fine one, is it not? Very much so. A carpet? Beautiful. All wager, he had nothing like it before he came here. I think so, too. And then again turning toward the young man, he said, Do you not remember to have been visited at some time or another by a strange lady or gentleman? Yes, indeed. Thrice by a woman, who each time came to the door in a carriage, and entered covered with a veil, which she raised when we were together and alone. Do you remember that woman? Yes. What did she say to you? The young man smiled mournfully and then replied, She inquired as you have just done, if I were happy and if I were getting weary. What did she do on arriving and on leaving you? She pressed me in her arms, held me in her embrace, and kissed me. Do you remember her? Perfectly. Do you recall her features distinctly? Yes. You would recognize her then, if accident brought her before you or led you into her presence? Most certainly. A flush of fleeting satisfaction passed across Aramis' face. At this moment Bezmo heard the jailer approaching. Shall we leave? he said hastily to Aramis. Aramis, who probably had learned all that he cared to know, replied, When you like. The young man saw them prepare to leave and saluted them politely. Bezmo replied merely by a nod of the head, while Aramis, with a respect, arising perhaps from the sight of such misfortune, saluted the prisoner profoundly. They left the room, Bezmo closing the door behind them. Well, said Bezmo as they descended the staircase, what do you think of it all? I have discovered the secret, my dear governor. He said, Bah! What is the secret then? A murder was committed in that house. Nonsense! But attend, the valet and nurse died the same day. Well, and by poison, what do you think? That is very likely to be true. What, that that young man is an assassin? Who said that? What makes you think that poor young fellow could be an assassin? The very thing I was saying, a crime was committed in his house, said Aramis, and that was quite sufficient. Perhaps he saw the criminals, and it was feared that he might say something. The deuce! If I only thought that! Well, I would redouble the surveillance. Oh, he does not seem to wish to escape. You do not know what prisoners are. Has he any books? None. They are strictly prohibited, and under Monsieur de Mazarin's own hand. Have you the writing still? Yes, my lord. Would you like to look at it as you return to take your cloak? I should, for I like to look at autographs. Well, then, this one is of the most unquestionable authenticity. There is only one erasure. Aha, an erasure, and in what respect? With respect to a figure. At first there was written, To be bordered at fifty franc. As princes of the blood, in fact. But the cardinal must have seen his mistake, you understand, for he cancelled the zero, and has added a one before the five. But, by the by. What? You do not speak of the resemblance. I do not speak of it, dear Monsieur de Bezmo, for a very simple reason. Because it does not exist. The deuce it doesn't. Or, if it does exist, it is only in your own imagination. But, supposing it were to exist elsewhere, I think it would be better for you not to speak about it. Really? The king, Louis XIV, you understand, would be excessively angry with you if he were to learn that you contributed it any way to spread the report, that one of his subjects has the effrontery to resemble him. It is true, quite true, said Bezmo, thoroughly alarmed. But, I have not spoken of the circumstance to anyone but yourself, and you understand, Monsignor, that I perfectly rely on your discretion. Oh, be easy. Do you still wish to see the note? Certainly. While engaged in this manner in conversation, they had returned to the governor's apartments. Bezmo took from the cupboard a private register, like the one he had already shown Aramis, but fastened by a lock. The key which opened it being one of a small bunch of keys which Bezmo always carried with him. Then, placing the book upon the table, he opened it at the letter M, and showed Aramis the following note in the column of observations. No books at any time, all linen and clothes of the finest and best quality to be procured, no exercise, always the same jailer, no communications with anyone, musical instruments, every liberty and every indulgence, which his welfare may require, to be boarded at fifteen franc. Monsieur de Bezmo can claim more if the fifteen franc be not sufficient. Monsieur de Bezmo can claim more if the fifteen franc be not sufficient. Ah! said Bezmo. Now I think of it. I shall claim it. Aramis shut the book. Yes, he said. It is indeed Monsieur de Mazurine's handwriting. I recognize it well. Now, my dear governor, he continued as if this last communication had exhausted his interest. Let us now turn to our own little affairs. Well, what timeful repayment do you wish me to take? Fix it yourself! There need not be any particular period fixed. Give me a simple acknowledgement for one hundred and fifty thousand franc. When to be made payable? When I require it. But you understand, I shall only wish it when you yourself do. Oh! I am quite easy on that score! said Bezmo, smiling. But I have already given you two receipts, which I now destroy. Said Aramis, and after having shown the two receipts to Bezmo, he destroyed them. Overcome by so great a mark of confidence, Bezmo unhesitatingly wrote out an acknowledgement of a debt of one hundred and fifty thousand franc, payable at the pleasure of the prelate. Aramis, who hand by glancing over the governor's shoulder, followed the penance he wrote, put the acknowledgement into his pocket without seeming to have read it, which made Bezmo perfectly easy. Now, said Aramis, you will not be angry with me if I were to carry off one of your prisoners. What do you mean? By obtaining his pardon, of course. Have I not already told you that I took a great interest in poor Seldon? Yes, quite true. You did say so. Well? That is your affair. Do as you think proper. I see you have an open hand and an arm that can reach a great way. Adir. Adir. An Aramis left, carrying with him the governor's best wishes. End of chapter one hundred, recording by John Vance Dan, Savannah, Georgia. Chapter one hundred and one of the D'Artagnan romances, volume three part one by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson, this Librivox recording is in the public domain. The two friends. At the very time Mishir de Bezmo was showing Aramis the prisoners in the Bastille, a carriage drew up at Madame de Beliere's door, and at that still early hour a young woman alighted, her head muffled in a silk hood. When the servants announced Madame Vanelle to Madame de Beliere, the letter was engaged or rather was absorbed in reading a letter which she hurriedly concealed. She had hardly finished her morning toilet, her maid being still in the next room. At the name, at the footsteps of Marguerite Vanelle, Madame de Beliere ran to meet her. She fancied she could detect in her friend's eyes a brightness which was neither that of health nor of pleasure. Marguerite embraced her, pressed her hands, and hardly allowed her time to speak. Dearest, she said, have you forgotten me? Have you quite given yourself up to the pleasures of the court? I have not even seen the marriage vets. What are you doing with yourself then? I am getting ready to leave for Beliere. For Beliere? Yes. You are becoming rustic in your taste then. I delight to see you so disposed, but you are pale. No, I am perfectly well. So much the better. I was becoming uneasy about you. You do not know what I have been told. People say so many things. Yes, but this is very singular. How well you know how to excite curiosity, Marguerite! Well, I was afraid of vexing you. Never, you have yourself always admired me for my evenness of temper. Well, then, it is said that, no, I shall never be able to tell you. Do not let us talk about it then, said Madame de Beliere, who detected the ill nature that was concealed by all these prefaces, yet felt the most anxious curiosity on the subject. Well, then, my dear Marquis, it is said that for some time past, you no longer continue to regret Monsieur de Beliere as you used to. It is an ill-natured report, Marguerite. I do regret and shall always regret my husband, but it is now two years since he died. I am only twenty-eight years old, and my grief at his loss ought not always to control every action and thought of my life. You, Marguerite, who are the model of a wife, would not believe me if I were to say so. Why not? Your heart is so soft in yielding. She said spitefully. Yourness is so, too, Marguerite, and yet I did not perceive that you allowed yourself to be overcome by grief when your heart was wounded. These words were indirect allusion to Marguerite's rupture with the superintendent, and were also a veiled but direct reproach made against her friend's heart. As if she only awaited this signal to discharge her shaft, Marguerite exclaimed, Well, Elise, it is said you are in love. And she looked fixedly at Madame de Beliere, who blushed against her will. Women never escape slander, replied the Marquis after a moment's pause. No one slanders you, Elise. What! People say that I am in love, and yet they do not slander me. In the first place, if it be true, it is no slander, but simply a scandal-loving report. In the next place, for you did not allow me to finish what I was saying, the public does not assert that you have abandoned yourself to this passion. It represents you, on the contrary, as a virtuous but loving woman, defending yourself with claws and teeth, shutting yourself up in your own house as in a fortress, in other respects, as impenetrable as that of Denae. Notwithstanding Denae's tower was made of brass. You are witty, Marguerite, said Madame de Beliere angrily. You always flatter me, Elise. In short, however, you are reported to be incorruptible and unapproachable. You cannot decide whether the world is culminating you or not, but what is it you are musing about while I am speaking to you? I? Yes, you are blushing and do not answer me. I was trying, said the Marquis, raising her beautiful eyes, brightened with an indication of growing temper. I was trying to discover to what you could possibly have alluded. You who are so learned in mythological subjects in comparing me to Denae. You were trying to guess that, said Marguerite, laughing. Yes. Do you not remember that at the convent, when we were solving our problems in arithmetic? What I have to tell you is learned also, but it is my turn. Do you not remember that if one of the terms were given, we were to find out the other? Therefore, do you guess now? I cannot conjecture what you mean. And yet nothing is more simple. You pretend that I am in love, do you not? So it is said. Very well. It is not said, I suppose, that I am in love with an abstraction. There must surely be a name mentioned in this report. Certainly a name is mentioned. Very well. It is not surprising, then, that I should try to guess this name, since you do not tell it. My dear Marquis, when I saw you blush, I did not think you would have to spend much time in conjectures. It was the word Denae which you used that surprised me. Denae means a shower of gold, does it not? That is to say that the Jupiter of Denae changed himself into a shower of gold for her. My lover then, he whom you assign me. I beg your pardon. I am your friend, and assign you no one. That may be, but those who are ill-disposed toward me. Do you wish to hear the name? I have been waiting this half hour for it. Well, then you shall hear it. Do not be shocked. He is a man high in power. Good! said the Marquis, as she clenched her hands like a patient at the approach of the knife. He is a very wealthy man, continued Marguerite. The wealthiest it may be. In a word, it is. The Marquis closed her eyes for a moment. It is the Duke of Buckingham! said Marguerite, bursting into laughter. This perfidy had been calculated with extreme ability. The name that was pronounced, instead of the name which the Marquis awaited, had precisely the same effect upon her as the badly sharpened axes that had hacked, without destroying, messieurs de chalet and de tôt upon the scaffold. She recovered herself, however, and said, I was perfectly right in saying you were a witty woman, for you are making the time pass away most agreeably. This joke is a most amusing one for her. I have never seen the Duke of Buckingham. Never! said Marguerite, restraining her laughter. I have never even left my own house, since the Duke has been at Paris. Oh! resumed Madame Fanelle, stretching out her foot toward a paper which was lying on the carpet near the window. It is not necessary for people to see each other, since they can write. The Marquis trembled. For this paper was the envelope of the letter she was reading as her friend had entered, and was sealed with the superintendent's arms. As she leaned back on the sofa on which she was sitting, Madame de Belliere covered the paper with the thick folds of her large silk dress, and so concealed it. Come, Marguerite, tell me. Is it to tell me all these foolish reports that you have come to see me so early in the day? No. I came to see you in the first place, and to remind you of those habits of our earlier days so delightful to remember when we used to wander about together at Vincennes, and sitting beneath an oak or in some silvan shade used to talk of those we loved, and who loved us. Do you propose that we should go out together now? My carriage is here, and I have three hours at my disposal. I am not dressed yet, Marguerite, but if you wish that we should talk together we can, without going to the woods of Vincennes. Find in my own garden here beautiful trees, shady groves, a green ward covered with daisies and violets, the perfume of which can be perceived from where we are sitting. I regret your refusal, my dear Marquis, for I wanted to pour out my whole heart into yours. I repeat again, Marguerite, my heart is yours just as much in this room, or beneath the lime trees in the garden here as it would be under the oaks in the wood yonder. It is not the same thing for me. In approaching Vincennes, Marquis, my ardent aspirations approach nearer to that object towards which they have for some days passed been directed. The Marquis suddenly raised her head. Are you surprised, then, that I am still thinking of St. Mond? Of St. Mond? exclaimed Madame de Belliere, and the looks of both women met each other like two resistless swords. You so proud? said Marquis disdainfully. I so proud! replied Madame Vanella, such is my nature. I do not forgive neglect. I cannot endure infidelity when I leave anyone who weeps at my abandonment. I feel induced still to love him, but when others forsake me and laugh at their infidelity, I love distractedly. Madame de Belliere could not restrain an involuntary movement. She is jealous, said Marguerite herself. Then, continued the Marquis, you are quite enamored of the Duke of Buckingham. I mean of Fouquet. Elise felt the illusion and her blood seemed to congeal in her heart. And you wish to go to Vincen, to St. Mond even. I hardly know what I wished. You would have advised me, perhaps. In what respect? You have often done so. Most certainly I should have done so in the present instance, for I do not forgive as you do. I am less loving, perhaps, when my heart has been once wounded. It remains so always. But Mr. Fouquet has not wounded you, said Marguerite Vanell, with the most perfect simplicity. You perfectly understand what I mean. Mr. Fouquet has not wounded me. I do not know if either obligation or injury received at his hands, but you have reason to complain of him. You are my friend, and I am afraid I should not advise you as you would like. Ah! You are prejudging the case. The size you spoke of just now are more than indications. You overwhelm me, said the young woman suddenly as if collecting her whole strength like a wrestler preparing for her last struggle. You take only my evil dispositions and my weaknesses into calculation. I do not speak of my pure and generous feelings. If at this moment I feel instinctively attracted towards the superintendent, if I even make an advance to him, which I confess is very probable, my motive for it is, that Mr. Fouquet's fate deeply affects me, and because he is, in my opinion, one of the most unfortunate men living. Ah! said the Marquis, placing her hand upon her heart. Something new, then, has occurred. Do you not know it? I am utterly ignorant of everything about him, said Madame de Belliere, with the poignant anguish that suspends thought and speech and even life itself. In the first place, then, the king's favour is entirely withdrawn from Mr. Fouquet and conferred on Mr. Colbert. So it is stated. It is very clear, since the discovery of the plot of Belial. I was told that the discovery of the fortifications there had turned out to Mr. Fouquet's honour. Marguerite began to laugh in so cruel a manner that Madame de Belliere could, at that moment, have delightedly plunged a dagger in her bosom. Dearest! continued Marguerite, there is no longer any question of Mr. Fouquet's honour. His safety is concerned. Before three days are passed, the ruin of the superintendent will be complete. Stay! said the Marquis, in her turn smiling. That is going a little too fast. I said three days, because I wish to deceive myself with a hope, but probably the catastrophe will be complete within twenty-four hours. Why so? For the simplest of all reasons, that Mr. Fouquet has no more money. In matters of finance, my dear Marguerite, some are without money today who to-morrow can procure millions. That might be Mr. Fouquet's case when he had two wealthy and clever friends who amassed money for him and wrung it from every possible or impossible source, but those friends are dead. Money does not die, Marguerite. It may be concealed, but it can be looked for and sought and found. You see things on the bright side and so much the better for you. It is really very unfortunate that you are not the agiria of Mr. Fouquet. You might now show him the source whence he could obtain the millions, which the king asked him for yesterday. Millions! said the Marquis in terror. Four, an even number. Infamous! murmured Madame de Belliere, tortured by her friends and merciless delight. Mr. Fouquet, I should think, must certainly have four millions, she replied courageously. If he has those which the king requires today, said Marguerite, he will not perhaps possess those which the king will demand in a month or so. The king will exact money from him again, then? No doubt, and that is my reason for saying that the ruin of poor Mr. Fouquet is inevitable. Pride will induce him to furnish the money, and when he has no more he will fall. It is true, said the Marquis, trembling, the plan is a bold one, but tell me, does Mr. Colbert hate Mr. Fouquet so very much? I think he does not like him. Mr. Colbert is powerful. He improves on close acquaintance. He has gigantic ideas of strong will and discretion. He will rise. He will be superintendant. It is probable, such is the reason, my dear Marquis, why I felt myself impressed in favour of that poor man who once loved and even adored me, and why when I see him so unfortunate I forgive his infidelity which I have reason to believe he also forgets, and why, moreover, I should not have been disinclined to afford him some consolation or some good advice. He would have understood the step I had taken, and would have thought kindly of me for it. It is gratifying to be loved, you know. Men value love more highly when they are no longer blinded by its influence. The Marquis is bewildered and overcome by these cruel attacks, which had been calculated with the greatest nicety and precision hardly knew what answer to return. She even seemed to have lost all power of thought. Her perfidious friend's voice had assumed the most affectionate tone. She spoke as a woman, but concealed the instincts of a wolf. Well, said Madame de Belliere, who had a vague hope that Marguerite would cease to overwhelm a vanquished enemy, why do you not go and see Mr. Fouquet? Decidedly, Marquis, you have made me reflect. No. It would be unbecoming for me to make the first advance. Mr. Fouquet no doubt loves me, but he is too proud. I cannot expose myself to an affront. Besides, I have my husband to consider. You tell me nothing, very well. I shall consult Mr. Colbert on the subject. Marguerite rose smilingly as though to take leave, but the Marquis had not the strength to imitate her. Marguerite advanced a few paces in order that she might continue to enjoy the humiliating grief in which her rival was plunged, and then said suddenly, You do not accompany me to the door, then? The Marquis rose pale and almost lifeless, without thinking of the envelope which had occupied her attention so greatly at the commencement of the conversation, and which was revealed at the first step she took. She then opened the door of her oratory, and without even turning her head toward Marguerite Vanell entered it closing the door after her. Marguerite said, or rather muttered a few words which Madame de Belliere did not even hear. As soon, however, as the Marquis had disappeared, her envious enemy not being able to resist the desire to satisfy herself that her suspicions were well founded, advanced stealthily towards it, like a panther, and seized the envelope. She said, gnashing her teeth, it was indeed a letter from the sherf who case she was reading when I arrived. And then darted out of the room. During this interval the Marquis, having arrived behind the rampart as it were, of her door, felt that her strength was failing her. For a moment she remained rigid, pale and motionless as a statue, and then, like a statue shaken on its base by an earthquake, tottered and fell inanimate on the carpet. The noise of the fall resounded at the same moment as the rolling of Marguerite's carriage leaving the hotel.