WE will not describe the Bastille; it would be useless.
It lives as an eternal image, both in the memory of the old and in the imagination of the young.
We shall content ourselves with merely stating that, seen from the Boulevard, it presented, in front of the square then called Place de la Bastille, two twin towers, while its two fronts ran parallel with the banks of the canal which now exists.
The entrance to the Bastille was defended, in the first place, by a guardhouse, then by two lines of sentinels, and besides these by two drawbridges.
After having passed through these several obstacles, you came to the courtyard of the government house,—that is to say, the residence of the governor.
From this courtyard a gallery led to the ditches of the Bastille.
At this other entrance, which opened upon the ditches, was a drawbridge, a guardhouse, and an iron gate.
At the first entrance they wished to stop Billot; but Billot shows the passport he received from Flesselles, and they allow him to pass on.
Billot then perceives that Pitou is following him. Pitou had no permission; but he would have followed the farmer’s steps down to the infernal regions, or would have ascended to the moon.
“Remain outside,” said Billot. “Should I not come out again, it would be well there should be some one to remind the people that I have come in.”
“That is perfectly right,” said Pitou. “How long am I to wait before I remind them of it?”
“One hour.”
“And the casket?” inquired Pitou.
“Ah, you remind me! Well, then, should I not get out again; should Gonchon not take the Bastille, or, in short, if, after having taken it, I should not be found, you must tell Doctor Gilbert, whom they will find perhaps, that men who came from Paris took from me the casket which he confided to my care five years ago; that I, on the instant, started off to inform him of what had happened; that, on arriving at Paris, I was informed that he was in the Bastille; that I attempted to take the Bastille, and that in the attempt I left my skin there, which was altogether at his service.”
“‘Tis well, Father Billot,” said Pitou; “only ’tis rather a long story, and I am much afraid that I may forget it.”
“Forget what I have said to you?”
“Yes.”
“I will repeat it to you, then.”
“No,” said a voice close to Billot’s ear; “it would be better to write it.”
“I do not know how to write,” said Billot.
“I do. I am an usher.”
“Ah! you are an usher, are you?” inquired Billot.
“Stanislaus Maillard, usher in the Court of the Châtelet.”
And he drew from his pocket a long ink—horn, in which there were pens, paper, and ink; in fine, all that was necessary for writing.
He was a man about forty—five years old, tall, thin, and grave—looking, dressed entirely in black, as became his profession.
“Here is one who looks confoundedly like an undertaker,” muttered Pitou.
“You say,” inquired the usher, with great calmness, “that men who came from Paris carried off a casket which Dr. Gilbert confided to you?”
“Yes.”
“That is a punishable crime.”
“These men belonged to the police of Paris.”
“Infamous robbers!” muttered Maillard.
Then, handing the paper to Piton:—”Here, take this, young man,” said he; “it is the memorandum you require; and should he be killed,”—he pointed to Billot—”should you be killed, it is to be hoped that I shall not be killed too.”
“And should you not be killed, what would you do?” asked Pitou.
“I would do that which you were to have done,” replied Maillard.
“Thanks,” said Billot.
And he held out his hand to the usher.
The usher grasped it with a vigor which could not have been anticipated from his lank meagre body.
“Then I may fully depend upon you?” said Billot.
“As on Marat—as on Gonchon.”
“Good!” said Pitou; “they form a trinity which I am sure I shall not find in paradise.”
Then, going up to Billot:—
“Tell me, Father Billot, you will be prudent, will you not?”
“Pitou,” replied the farmer, with an eloquence which sometimes astonished people, when proceeding from one who had always led a country life, “forget not what I say to you,—that the most prudent line of conduct now in France is to be courageous.”