HOW LIFE PASSED IN THE BASTILLE WHILE WAITING FOR DEATH.
Gaston was inclined to thank the lieutenant of police, but he refrained. It might appear as though he had been afraid. He took his hat and coat, and returned to the Bastille as he had come.
"They did not like to put a man of high birth to the torture," thought he; "they will try me and condemn me to death."
But death seemed easy when divested of the preliminary agonies which the lieutenant of police had so minutely described.
On re-entering his room, Gaston saw, almost with joy, all that had seemed so horrible to him an hour before. The prison seemed gay, the view charming, the saddest inscriptions on the walls were madrigals compared to the menacing appearance of the room he had just quitted.
The major of the Bastille came to fetch him about an hour afterward, accompanied by a turnkey.
"I understand," thought Gaston; "the governor's invitation is a pretext, in such a case, to take from the prisoner the anguish of expectation. I shall, doubtless, cross some dungeon, into which I shall fall and die. God's will be done." And, with a firm step, he followed the major, expecting every moment to be precipitated into some secret dungeon, and murmuring Helene's name, that he might die with it on his lips.
But, no accident following this poetical and loving invocation, the prisoner quietly arrived at the governor's door.
M. de Launay came to meet him.
"Will you give me your word of honor, chevalier," said he, "not to attempt to escape while you are in my house? It is understood, of course," he added, smiling, "that this parole is withdrawn as soon as you are taken back to your own room, and it is only a precaution to insure me a continuance of your society."