"Mercy, monseigneur, mercy!"
"Mercy to a criminal like you, M. Buvat! I shall send you to the Bastille, and Mademoiselle Bathilde to Saint Lazare."
"To Saint Lazare! Bathilde at Saint Lazare, monseigneur! Bathilde at Saint Lazare! and who has the right to do that?"——"I, M. Buvat."
"No, monseigneur, you have not the right!" cried Buvat, who could fear and suffer everything for himself, but who, at the thought of such infamy, from a worm became a serpent. "Bathilde is not a daughter of the people, monseigneur! Bathilde is a lady of noble birth, the daughter of a man who saved the life of the regent, and when I represent to his highness—"
"You will go first to the Bastille, M. Buvat," said Dubois, pulling the bell so as nearly to break it, "and then we shall see about Mademoiselle Bathilde."
"Monseigneur, what are you doing?"
"You will see." (The usher entered.) "An officer of police, and a carriage."
"Monseigneur!" cried Buvat, "all that you wish—"
"Do as I have bid you," said Dubois.
The usher went out.