“It is true. But with us, Monsieur, it is good that the man of to-day should no longer know what the man of yesterday did.”
“In any case,” said Baisemeaux, “the visit of the Jesuit confessor must have given happiness to this man.”
Aramis made no reply, but recommenced eating and drinking. As for Baisemeaux, no longer touching anything that was on the table, he again took up the order and examined it in every way. This investigation, under ordinary circumstances, would have made the ears of the impatient Aramis burn with anger; but the Bishop of Vannes did not become incensed for so little, especially when he had murmured to himself that to do so was dangerous. “Are you going to release Marchiali?” he said. “What mellow and fragrant sherry this is, my dear governor!”
“Monseigneur,” replied Baisemeaux, “I shall release the prisoner Marchiali when I have summoned the courier who brought the order, and above all, when by interrogating him I have satisfied myself.”
“The order is sealed, and the courier is ignorant of the contents. What do you want to satisfy yourself about?”
“Be it so, Monseigneur; but I shall send to the ministry, and M. de Lyonne will either confirm or withdraw the order.”
“What is the good of all that?” asked Aramis, coldly.
“What good?”
“Yes; what is your object, I ask?”
“The object of never deceiving one’s self, Monseigneur, of not failing in the respect which a subaltern owes to his superior officers, nor neglecting the duties of that service which one has voluntarily accepted.”
“Very good; you have just spoken so eloquently that I cannot but admire you. It is true that a subaltern owes respect to his superiors; he is guilty when he deceives himself, and he should be punished if he disregard either the duties or laws of his office.”
Baisemeaux looked at the bishop with astonishment.
“It follows,” pursued Aramis, “that you are going to ask advice in order to put your conscience at ease?”
“Yes, Monseigneur.”
“And if a superior officer gives you orders, you will obey?”
“Never doubt it, Monseigneur.”
“You know the King’s signature very well, M. de Baisemeaux?”
“Yes, Monseigneur.”
“Is it not on this order of release?”
“It is true, but it may-”
“Be forged, you mean?”
“That is possible, Monseigneur.”
“You are right. And that of M. de Lyonne?”
“I see it plain enough on the order; but just as the King’s signature may have been forged, so also, even more likely, may M. de Lyonne’s.”
“Your logic has the stride of a giant, M. de Baisemeaux,” said Aramis; “and your reasoning is irresistible. But on what special grounds do you base your idea that these signatures are false?”
“On this: the absence of counter-signatures. Nothing checks his Majesty’s signature; and M. de Lyonne is not there to tell me he has signed.”
“Well, M. de Baisemeaux,” said Aramis, bending an eagle glance on the governor, “I adopt so frankly your doubts, and your mode of clearing them up, that I will take a pen, if you will give me one.”
Baisemeaux gave him a pen.
“And a sheet of white paper,” added Aramis.
Baisemeaux handed some paper.
“Now, I- I, also- I, here present- incontestably, I- am going to write an order to which I am certain you will give credence, incredulous as you are!”
Baisemeaux turned pale at this icy assurance of manner. It seemed to him that that voice of Aramis, but just now so playful and so gay, had become funereal and sinister; that the wax-lights had changed into the tapers of a mortuary chapel, and the glasses of wine into chalices of blood.
Aramis took a pen and wrote. Baisemeaux, in terror, read over his shoulder.
“A. M. D. G.” wrote the bishop; and he drew a cross under these four letters, which signify ad majorem Dei gloriam, and thus continued:-
“It is our pleasure that the order brought to M. de Baisemeaux de Montlezun, governor, for the King, of the castle of the Bastille, be held by him good and effectual, and be immediately carried into operation.
“Signed: D’HERBLAY,
“General of the Order, by the grace of God.”
Baisemeaux was so profoundly astonished that his features remained contracted, his lips parted, and his eyes fixed. He did not move an inch, nor articulate a sound. Nothing could be heard in that large chamber but the buzzing of a little moth which was fluttering about the candles.