Billot at once divined the meaning of his look, and stopped.
“If I speak to him,” said he to himself, “I shall cause him to be recognized, and should he be recognized, his death is certain.”
And yet, how was he to find Doctor Gilbert amid this chaotic confusion? How could he drag from the Bastille the secret which its walls enclosed?
All this hesitation, these heroic scruples, were understood by De Launay.
“What is it that you wish?” asked De Launay, in an undertone.
“Nothing,” replied Billot, pointing with his finger to the gate, indicating to him that escape was yet possible; “nothing. I shall be able readily to find Doctor Gilbert.”
“Third Bertaudière,” replied De Launay, in a gentle and almost affectionate tone of voice.
But he stirred not from the place on which he stood.
Suddenly a voice from behind Billot pronounced these words:—”Ah! there is the governor.”
This voice was so calm, so hollow, that it appeared not to be of this world, and yet each word it had uttered was a sharp poniard turned against the breast of De Launay.
He who had spoken was Gonchon.
These words, like the first sounds of an alarm—bell, excited a fearful commotion; all these men, drunk with revengeful feelings, started on hearing them; they looked around with flaming eyes, perceived De Launay, and at once darted upon and seized him.
“Save him,” said Billot, as he passed near Elie and Hullin, “or they will murder him.”
“Assist us to do so,” said the two men.
“I am obliged to remain here,” replied Billot, “for I also have some one to save.”
In an instant De Launay had been surrounded by a thousand men, who dragged him along, lifted him up, and were bearing him away.
Elie and Hullin bounded after him, crying,—
“Stop! stop! we promised him that his life should be saved.”
This was not true; but the thought of uttering this magnanimous falsehood had risen to the mind of these two generous men at the same moment.
In a second, De Launay, followed by Elie and Hullin, disappeared under the vaulted passage which led from the Bastille, amidst loud voices of, “To the Hôtel de Ville! To the Hôtel de Ville!”
It was a singular spectacle to see this mournful and silent monument, which for four centuries had been tenanted only by prisoners, their jailers, their guards, and a gloomy governor, now become the prey of the people, who ran through the courtyards, ascended and descended the staircases, buzzing like a swarm of flies, and filling this granite hive with noise and movement.
De Launay, a living prey, was to some of the victors of as great value as the dead prey, the captured Bastille.
Billot for a moment or two followed De Launay with his eyes, who was carried rather than led, and appeared to soar above the crowd.
But, as we have said, he soon disappeared. Billot heaved a sigh, looked around him, perceived Pitou, and rushed towards a tower, crying,—
“Third Bertaudière.”
A trembling jailer met him on his way.
“Third Bertaudière,” said Billot.
“This way, sir,” replied the jailer; “but I have not the keys.”
“Where are they?”
“They took them from me.”
“Citizen, lend me your hatchet,” said Billot, to one of the men from the Faubourg.
“I give it to you,” replied the latter; “I do not want it any more, since the Bastille is taken.”
Billot snatched the hatchet, and ran up a staircase, conducted by the jailer.
The jailer stopped before a door.
“Third Bertáudière?” asked Billot.
“Yes, this is it.”
“The prisoner confined in this room is Doctor Gilbert, is it not?”
“I do not know.”
“He was brought here only five or six days ago?”
“I do not know.”
“Well, then,” said Billot, “I shall soon know it.”
And he began chopping at the door with his hatchet.
The door was of oak, but it soon flew into splinters beneath the vigorous blows of the robust farmer.
In a few moments he had cut a hole through it and could look into the room.
Billot placed his eye at the opening. Through it he could see the interior of the cell.