“You wish it?”
“I entreat you.”
“What? in the middle of our repast?”
“I implore you; such an action is worth ten Benedicites.”
“It shall be as you desire; only, our supper will get cold.”
“Oh, never heed that!”
Baisemeaux leaned back to ring for Francois, and by a very natural motion turned round towards the door. The order had remained on the table. Aramis seized the opportunity when Baisemeaux was not looking to change the paper for another, folded in the same manner, which he took from his pocket. “Francois,” said the governor, “let the major come up here with the turnkeys of the Bertaudiere.” Francois bowed and quitted the room, leaving the two companions alone.
Chapter XXXVI: The General of the Order
THERE was now a brief silence, during which Aramis never removed his eyes from Baisemeaux for a moment. The latter seemed only half decided to disturb himself thus in the middle of supper; and it was clear that he was seeking some pretext, whether good or bad, for delay, at any rate till after dessert. And it appeared also that he had hit upon a pretext at last.
“Eh! but it is impossible,” he cried.
“How impossible?” said Aramis. “Give me a glimpse of this impossibility.”
“‘Tis impossible to set a prisoner at liberty at such an hour. Where can he go to,- he, who is unacquainted with Paris?”
“He will go wherever he can.”
“You see, now, one might as well set a blind man free!”
“I have a carriage, and will take him wherever he wishes.”
“You have an answer for everything. Francois, tell Monsieur the Major to go and open the cell of M. Seldon, No. 3 Bertaudiere.”
“Seldon!” exclaimed Aramis, very naturally. “You said Seldon, I think?”
“I said Seldon, of course. ‘Tis the name of the man to be set free.”
“Oh! you mean to say Marchiali?” said Aramis.
“Marchiali? oh, yes, indeed! No, no! Seldon.”
“I think you are making a mistake, M. Baisemeaux.”
“I have read the order.”
“And I also.”
“And I saw ‘Seldon’ in letters as large as that”; and Baisemeaux held up his finger.
“And I read ‘Marchiali,’ in characters as large as this,” said Aramis, holding up two fingers.
“To the proof; let us throw a light on the matter,” said Baisemeaux, confident he was right. “There is the paper; you have only to read it.”
“I read ‘Marchiali,'” returned Aramis, spreading out the paper. “Look!”
Baisemeaux looked, and his arms dropped suddenly. “Yes, yes,” he said, quite overwhelmed; “yes, Marchiali. ‘Tis plainly written ‘Marchiali,’ quite true!”
“Ah!”
“How? The man of whom we have talked so much? The man whom they are every day telling me to take such care of?”
“There is ‘Marchiali,'” repeated the inflexible Bishop of Vannes.
“I must own it, Monseigneur. But I absolutely don’t understand it.”
“You believe your eyes, at any rate.”
“To tell me very plainly there is ‘Marchiali.'”
“And in a good handwriting too.”
“‘Tis a wonder! I still see this order and the name of Seldon, Irishman. I see it. Ah! I even recollect that under this name there was a blot of ink.”
“No, there is no ink; no, there is no blot.”
“Oh, but there was, though! I know it, because I rubbed the powder that was over the blot.”
“In a word, be it how it may, dear M. Baisemeaux,” said Aramis, “and whatever you may have seen, the order is signed to release Marchiali, blot or no blot.”
“The order is signed to release Marchiali!” repeated Baisemeaux, mechanically endeavoring to regain his courage.
“And you are going to release this prisoner. If your heart dictates to you to deliver Seldon also, I declare to you I will not oppose it the least in the world.”
Aramis accompanied this remark with a smile, the irony of which effectually dispelled Baisemeaux’s confusion of mind and restored his courage.
“Monseigneur,” said the governor, “this Marchiali is the very same prisoner whom the other day a priest, confessor of our order, came to visit in so imperious and so secret a manner.”
“I don’t know that, Monsieur,” replied the bishop.
“‘Tis no very long time ago, dear M. d’Herblay.”