“Monsieur,” said the sergeant, “the sick man, No. 12, has commissioned the turnkey to request you to send him a confessor.”
Baisemeaux very nearly sank on the floor; but Aramis disdained to reassure him, just as he had disdained to terrify him. “What must I answer?” inquired Baisemeaux.
“Just what you please,” replied Aramis, compressing his lips; “that is your business. I am not the governor of the Bastile.”
“Tell the prisoner,” cried Baisemeaux, quickly,—“tell the prisoner that his request is granted.” The sergeant left the room. “Oh! monseigneur, monseigneur,” murmured Baisemeaux, “how could I have suspected!—how could I have foreseen this!”
“Who requested you to suspect, and who besought you to foresee?” contemptuously answered Aramis. “The order suspects; the order knows; the order foresees—is that not enough?”
“What is it you command?” added Baisemeaux.
“I?—nothing at all. I am nothing but a poor priest, a simple confessor. Have I your orders to go and see the sufferer?”
“Oh, monseigneur, I do not order; I pray you to go.”
“‘Tis well; conduct me to him.”
End of Louise de la Valliere. The last text in the series is The Man in the Iron Mask.