"Can you not imagine, Boniface?"
"Yes, I think so; you want to know what has become of M. Raoul, do you not?"
"Oh yes," cried Bathilde, "in Heaven's name, what has become of him?"
"Poor fellow!" murmured Boniface.
"Mon Dieu! is he dead?" exclaimed Bathilde, sitting up in the bed.
"No, happily not; but he is a prisoner."
"Where?"
"In the Bastille."
"I feared it," said Bathilde, sinking down in the bed; "in the Bastille! oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!"