‘One thing,’ said Camille, more seriously. ‘I am not one to boast of favours bestowed, or even hint at them, but you will find a packet of love-letters in my old escriban. Burn them all—they are from Madame de Brinvilliers.’
Glazer uttered an exclamation of mingled incredulity and surprise.
‘It is true,’ said Camille; ‘she wrote them to me, telling me that I was the only one she ever loved—that all the other attachments had been madness—folly. Pshaw! each avowal was stereotyped, and did for others as well as it will again do for the next. Burn them all. Adieu! and tell Estelle to console herself.’
And, warmly shaking his friend by the hand, Theria flew down stairs, leaving Glazer almost bewildered at the rapidity of the interview and the avowal he had just heard.
CHAPTER XII.
EXILI SPREADS THE SNARE FOR SAINTE-CROIX, WHO FALLS INTO IT
The tower of the Bastille, which the Under-Governor had designated as the Tour du Nord upon Sainte-Croix’s arrival, was generally known as the Tour de la Liberté, which title, from the mockery of the appellation, was not in frequent use. The Bastille, it may be known, consisted at that time of eight towers. Two of these—the Tour du Trésor, so called because it was chosen as the depot of the wealth amassed by the sagacious Sully for Henry IV., and the Tour de la Chapelle, were the most ancient, and had formerly been merely the towers which flanked the entrance to Paris by the Faubourg St. Antoine. Subsequently the Tour de la Liberté and the Tour de la Bertandière were added opposite to those just spoken of—the latter being the one chosen, some centuries afterwards, as the prison of the unfortunate ‘Man in the Iron Mask.’ The Tour de la Liberté was at this early period the most northern elevation—hence its second name; and the entrance to the city lay between those four towers, on the spot where the huge cast of the elephant, intended for the fountain, may be recollected by the visitor on the way to Père la Chaise. To those four towers Charles VI. added four others; about 1383 chambers were hewn in the thickness of the wall between them, drawbridges were erected, a fosse dug around, and the Bastille was completed.
All these towers contained the cells for the prisoners; and as a portion of our story must now necessarily pass in the Bastille, we will call the attention of the reader to them; but briefly as possible. In each tower were five ranges of cells. The lowest of these, or cachots,[10] were the most horrible, receiving what little light they had from the lower part of the fosse. The floor was covered with a nauseous slime, perpetually oozing from the low grounds around, and laden with rank and poisonous exhalations. Here noisome reptiles—the toad, the lizard, and the rat, had their homes—sweltering and crawling on the damp floor; from which the only refuge allowed to the wretched prisoner was a species of bed, formed by iron bars projecting from the wall, a few inches above the ground. In many of these sinks, still greater misery was contrived for the occupant. The lower part was a mere well, cut out in the form of an inverted sugar-loaf, in which the prisoner was compelled to exist, so that the feet found no level resting-place, nor could the body repose.
Next in order of the chambres rigoureuses, were the iron cages. They were above the cachots, and were formed of small beams of wood plated with iron, being about six feet square. The next were termed the calottes. These chambers were the highest, being built in the summit of the towers, and so contrived that the prisoner could only stand upright exactly in the middle, and there was scarcely space in them for the length of a bed, although the depth of the loopholes was ten feet, being the thickness of the wall. These were small, admitting very little light, which was farther excluded by two ranges of thick iron bars, within and without. Being close to the roof, the heat of the sun in summer was insupportable, converting them almost into ovens; in winter the cold was equally terrible, since there was little space for a fire. In these rooms the victims were usually confined who were destined for the oubliettes—the wheels armed with cutting points, which, turning round, drew the sufferer between them and cut or tore him to pieces.
The intermediate chambers were somewhat more comfortable. They were fourteen or fifteen feet high; and, although the windows were heavily barred and counter-barred, were tolerably well lighted; whilst, from some of them, views could be obtained of the boulevards and various parts of the city. The rooms were generally numbered, and named after the towers in which they were situated. The one that Gaudin de Sainte-Croix now entered was the Onzième Liberté—and by the same title was the occupant known during his sojourn in the prison.
The recognition, both on the part of Gaudin and Exili, was instantaneous, and an expression of surprise burst from the lips of the former as he discovered the falcon countenance of the physician. But he directly recovered his composure, recollecting that the gaoler was still in the room, and remained silent until Galouchet departed, closing after him, one upon another, the three massy doors which, covered with heavy locks, bolts, and iron studs, guarded each of the chambers.