Ten Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part two

“He suffers imprisonment, at all events.”

“No doubt; there is no help for that, but this suffering is

sweetened for him. You must admit that this young fellow was

not born to eat all the good things he does eat; for

instance, such things as we have on the table now; this

pasty that has not been touched, these crawfish from the

River Marne, of which we have hardly taken any, and which

are almost as large as lobsters; all these things will at

once be taken to second Bertaudiere, with a bottle of that

Volnay which you think so excellent. After you have seen it

you will believe it, I hope.”

“Yes, my dear governor, certainly; but all this time you are

thinking only of your very happy fifteen-franc prisoner, and

you forget poor Seldon, my protege.”

“Well, out of consideration for you, it shall be a gala day

for him; he shall have some biscuits and preserves with this

small bottle of port.”

“You are a good-hearted fellow; I have said so already, and

I repeat it, my dear Baisemeaux.”

“Well, let us set off, then,” said the governor, a little

bewildered, partly from the wine he had drunk, and partly

from Aramis’s praises.

“Do not forget that I only go to oblige you,” said the

prelate.

“Very well; but you will thank me when you get there.”

“Let us go, then.”

“Wait until I have summoned the jailer,” said Baisemeaux, as

he struck the bell twice, at which summons a man appeared.

“I am going to visit the towers,” said the governor. “No

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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later

guards, no drums, no noise at all.”

“If I were not to leave my cloak here,” said Aramis,

pretending to be alarmed; “I should really think I was going

to prison on my own account.”

The jailer preceded the governor, Aramis walking on his

right hand; some of the soldiers who happened to be in the

courtyard drew themselves up in line, as stiff as posts, as

the governor passed along. Baisemeaux led the way down

several steps which conducted to a sort of esplanade; thence

they arrived at the draw-bridge, where the sentinels on duty

received the governor with the proper honors. The governor

turned toward Aramis, and, speaking in such a tone that the

sentinels could not lose a word, he observed, — “I hope you

have a good memory, monsieur?”

“Why?” inquired Aramis.

“On account of your plans and your measurements, for you

know that no one is allowed, not architects even, to enter

where the prisoners are, with paper, pens or pencil.”

“Good,” said Aramis to himself, “it seems I am an architect,

then. It sounds like one of D’Artagnan’s jokes, who

perceived in me the engineer of Belle-Isle.” Then he added

aloud: “Be easy on that score, monsieur; in our profession,

a mere glance and a good memory are quite sufficient.”

Baisemeaux did not change countenance, and the soldiers took

Aramis for what he seemed to be. “Very well; we will first

visit la Bertaudiere, “said Baisemeaux, still intending the

sentinels to hear him. Then, turning to the jailer, he

added: “You will take the opportunity of carrying to No. 2

the few dainties I pointed out.”

“Dear M. de Baisemeaux,” said Aramis, “you are always

forgetting No. 3.”

“So I am,” said the governor; and upon that, they began to

ascend. The number of bolts, gratings, and locks for this

single courtyard would have sufficed for the safety of an

entire city. Aramis was neither an imaginative nor a

sensitive man; he had been somewhat of a poet in his youth,

but his heart was hard and indifferent, as the heart of

every man of fifty-five years of age is, who has been

frequently and passionately attached to women in his

lifetime, or rather who has been passionately loved by them.

But when he placed his foot upon the worn stone steps, along

which so many unhappy wretches had passed, when he felt

himself impregnated, as it were, with the atmosphere of

those gloomy dungeons, moistened with tears, there could be

but little doubt he was overcome by his feelings, for his

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