Aramis smiled with an expression of incredulity.
“You smile,” said Baisemeaux.
“I do,” returned Aramis.
“I tell you that we have names which have been inscribed on
our books thrice in the space of two years.”
“I must see it before I believe it,” said Aramis.
“Well, I can show it to you, although it is prohibited to
communicate the registers to strangers; and if you really
wish to see it with your own eyes —- ”
“I should be delighted, I confess.”
“Very well,” said Baisemeaux, and he took out of a cupboard
a large register. Aramis followed him most anxiously with
his eyes, and Baisemeaux returned, placed the register upon
the table, and turned over the leaves for a minute, and
stayed at the letter M.
“Look here,” said he, “Martinier, January, 1659; Martinier,
June, 1660; Martinier, March, 1661. Mazarinades, etc.; you
understand it was only a pretext; people were not sent to
the Bastile for jokes against M. Mazarin; the fellow
denounced himself in order to get imprisoned here.”
“And what was his object?”
“None other than to return to my kitchen at three francs a
day,.”
“Three francs — poor devil!”
“The poet, my lord, belongs to the lowest scale, the same
style of board as the small tradesman and bailiff’s clerk;
but I repeat, it is to those people only that I give these
little surprises.”
Aramis mechanically turned over the leaves of the register,
continuing to read the names, but without appearing to take
any interest in the names he read.
“In 1661, you perceive,” said Baisemeaux, “eighty entries;
and in 1659, eighty also.”
“Ah!” said Aramis. “Seldon; I seem to know that name. Was it
not you who spoke to me about a certain young man?”
“Yes, a poor devil of a student, who made — What do you
call that where two Latin verses rhyme together?”
“A distich.”
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“Yes; that is it.”
“Poor fellow; for a distich.”
“Do you know that he made this distich against the Jesuits?”
“That makes no difference; the punishment seems very
severe.”
“Do not pity him; last year you seemed to interest yourself
in him.”
“Yes, I did so.”
“Well, as your interest is all-powerful here, my lord, I
have treated him since that time as a prisoner at fifteen
francs.”
“The same as this one, then,” said Aramis, who had continued
turning over the leaves, and who had stopped at one of the
names which followed Martinier.
“Yes, the same as that one.”
“Is that Marchiali an Italian?” said Aramis, pointing with
his finger to the name which had attracted his attention.
“Hush!” said Baisemeaux.
“Why hush?” said Aramis, involuntarily clenching his white
hand.
“I thought I had already spoken to you about that
Marchiali.”
“No, it is the first time I ever heard his name pronounced.”
“That may be, but perhaps I have spoken to you about him
without naming him.”
“Is he an old offender?” asked Aramis, attempting to smile.
“On the contrary, he is quite young.”
“Is his crime, then, very heinous?”
“Unpardonable.”
“Has he assassinated any one?”
“Bah!”
“An incendiary, then?”
“Bah!”
“Has he slandered any one?”
“No, no! It is he who — ” and Baisemeaux approached
Aramis’s ear, making a sort of ear-trumpet of his hands, and
whispered: “It is he who presumes to resemble the —- ”
“Yes, yes.” said Aramis, “I now remember you already spoke
about it last year to me; but the crime appeared to me so
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slight.
“Slight, do you say?”
“Or rather, so involuntary.”
“My lord, it is not involuntarily that such a resemblance is
detected.”
“Well, the fact is, I had forgotten it. But, my dear host,”
said Aramis, closing the register, “if I am not mistaken, we
are summoned.”
Baisemeaux took the register, hastily restored it to its
place in the closet, which he locked, and put the key in his
pocket. “Will it be agreeable to your lordship to breakfast
now?” said he; “for you are right in supposing that
breakfast was announced.”
“Assuredly, my dear governor,” and they passed into the
dining-room.
CHAPTER 99
The Breakfast at Monsieur de Baisemeaux’s