“Another blow!” said the King, turning towards the one who had just had the audacity to touch his sovereign; “what do you intend to do with the King of France?”
“Try to forget that word,” replied the man with the lamp, in a tone which as little admitted of reply as one of the famous decrees of Minos.
“You deserve to be broken on the wheel for the word you have just made use of,” said the giant, as he extinguished the lamp his companion handed to him; “but the King is too kind-hearted.”
Louis, at that threat, made so sudden a movement that it seemed as if he meditated flight; but the giant’s hand was placed on his shoulder, and fixed him motionless where he stood. “But tell me, at least, where we are going,” said the King.
“Come!” replied the former of the two men, with a kind of respect in his manner, and leading his prisoner towards a carriage which seemed to be in waiting.
The carriage was completely concealed amid the trees. Two horses, with their feet fettered, were fastened by a halter to the lower branches of a large oak.
“Get in,” said the same man, opening the carriage door and letting down the step. The King obeyed, seated himself at the back of the carriage, the padded door of which was shut and locked immediately upon him and his guide. As for the giant, he cut the fastenings by which the horses were bound, harnessed them himself, and mounted on the box of the carriage, which was unoccupied. The carriage set off immediately at a quick trot, turned into the road to Paris, and in the forest of Senart found a relay of horses fastened to the trees in the same manner in which the first horses had been, and without a postilion. The man on the box changed the horses, and continued to follow the road towards Paris with the same rapidity, and entered the city about three o’clock in the morning. The carriage proceeded along the Faubourg St. Antoine, and after having called out to the sentinel, “By the King’s order!” the driver conducted the horses into the circular enclosure of the Bastille, looking out upon the courtyard called La Cour du Gouvernement. There the horses drew up, reeking with sweat, at the flight of steps, and a sergeant of the guard ran forward.
“Go and wake the governor!” said the coachman, in a voice of thunder.
With the exception of this voice, which might have been heard at the entrance of the Faubourg St. Antoine, everything remained as calm in the carriage as in the prison. Ten minutes afterwards, M. de Baisemeaux appeared in his dressing-gown on the threshold of the door. “What is the matter now?” he asked; “and whom have you brought me there?”
The man with the lantern opened the carriage door, and said two or three words to the one who acted as driver, who immediately got down from his seat, took up a short musket which he kept under his feet, and placed its muzzle on the prisoner’s chest.
“Fire at once if he speaks!” added, aloud, the man who alighted from the carriage.
“Very good!” replied his companion, without any other remark.
With this recommendation, the person who had accompanied the King in the carriage ascended the flight of steps, at the top of which the governor was awaiting him. “M. d’Herblay!” said the latter.
“Hush!” said Aramis; “Let us go into your room.”
“Good heavens! what brings you here at this hour?”
“A mistake, my dear M. de Baisemeaux,” Aramis replied quietly. “It appears that you were right the other day.”
“What about?” inquired the governor.
“About the order of release, my dear friend.”
“Tell me what you mean, Monsieur,- no, Monseigneur,” said the governor, almost suffocated by surprise and terror.
“It is a very simple affair. You remember, dear M. de Baisemeaux, that an order of release was sent to you?”
“Yes, for Marchiali.”
“Very good! we both thought that it was for Marchiali?”
“Certainly. You will recollect, however, that I did not believe it; that I was unwilling; that you compelled me.”
“Oh, Baisemeaux, my good fellow, what a word to make use of!- advised, that was all.”