Aramis, without even deigning to look at the man whom he had reduced to so miserable a condition, drew from his pocket a small case of black wax. He sealed the letter, and stamped it with a seal suspended at his breast, beneath his doublet; and when the operation was concluded, presented- still in silence- the missive to M. de Baisemeaux. The latter, whose hands trembled in a manner to excite pity, turned a dull and meaningless gaze upon the letter. A last gleam of feeling played over his features, and he fell, as if thunderstruck, on a chair.
“Come, come,” said Aramis, after a long silence, during which the governor of the Bastille had slowly recovered his senses, “do not lead me to believe, dear Baisemeaux, that the presence of the general of the order is as terrible as that of the Almighty, and that men die merely from seeing him! Take courage, rouse yourself; give me your hand, and obey!”
Baisemeaux, reassured, if not satisfied, obeyed, kissed Aramis’s hand, and rose from his chair. “Immediately?” he murmured.
“Oh, there is no pressing haste, my host; take your place again, and do the honors over this beautiful dessert.”
“Monseigneur, I shall never recover such a shock as this,- I who have laughed, who have jested with you! I who have dared to treat you on a footing of equality!”
“Say nothing about it, old comrade,” replied the bishop, who perceived how strained the cord was, and how dangerous it might be to break it; “say nothing about it. Let us each live in our own way: to you, my protection and my friendship; to me, your obedience. Exactly fulfilling these two requirements, let us live happily.”
Baisemeaux reflected. He perceived, at a glance, the consequences of this withdrawal of a prisoner by means of a forged order; and putting in the scale the guarantee offered him by the official order of the general, did not consider it of any value.
Aramis divined this. “My dear Baisemeaux,” said he, “you are a simpleton! Lose this habit of reflection when I give myself the trouble to think for you.”
At another gesture made by Aramis, Baisemeaux bowed again. “How shall I set about it?”
“What is the process for releasing a prisoner?”
“I have the regulations.”
“Well, then, follow the regulations, my friend.”
“I go with my major to the prisoner’s room, and conduct him, if he is a personage of importance.”
“But this Marchiali is not an important personage,” said Aramis, carelessly.
“I don’t know,” answered the governor; as if he would have said, “It is for you to instruct me.”
“Then, if you don’t know it, I am right; so act towards Marchiali as you act towards one of obscure station.”
“Good; the regulations so provide. They are to the effect that the turnkey, or one of the lower officials, shall bring the prisoner before the governor, in the office.”
“Well, ’tis very wise, that; and then?”
“Then we return to the prisoner the valuables he wore at the time of his imprisonment, his clothes and papers, if the minister’s order has not otherwise directed.”
“What was the minister’s order as to this Marchiali?”
“Nothing; for the unhappy man arrived here without jewels, without papers, and almost without clothes.”
“See how simple it all is! Indeed, Baisemeaux, you make a mountain of everything. Remain here, and make them bring the prisoner to the governor’s house.”
Baisemeaux obeyed. He summoned his lieutenant, and gave him an order, which the latter passed on, without disturbing himself about it, to the next whom it concerned.
Half an hour afterwards they heard a gate shut in the court; it was the door to the dungeon which had just rendered up its prey to the free air. Aramis blew out all the candles which lighted the room but one, which he left burning behind the door. This flickering glare prevented the sight from resting steadily on any object. It multiplied tenfold the changing forms and shadows of the place by its wavering uncertainty. Steps drew near.
“Go and meet your men,” said Aramis to Baisemeaux.
The governor obeyed. The sergeant and turnkeys disappeared. Baisemeaux re-entered, followed by a prisoner. Aramis had placed himself in the shade; he saw without being seen. Baisemeaux, in an agitated tone of voice, made the young man acquainted with the order which set him at liberty. The prisoner listened, without making a single gesture or saying a word.