"To tell me very plainly there is 'Marchiali.'"
"And in a good handwriting, too."
"'Tis a wonder! I still see this order and the name of Seldon, Irishman. I see it. Ah! I even recollect that under this name there was a blot of ink."
"No, there is no ink; no, there is no blot."
"Oh! but there was, though; I know it, because I rubbed the powder that was over the blot."
"In a word, be it how it may, dear M. Baisemeaux," said Aramis, "and whatever you may have seen, the order is signed to release Marchiali, blot or no blot."
"The order is signed to release Marchiali!" repeated Baisemeaux, mechanically endeavoring to regain his courage.
"And you are going to release this prisoner. If your heart dictates to you to deliver Seldon also, I declare to you I will not oppose it the least in the world." Aramis accompanied this remark with a smile, the irony of which effectually dispelled Baisemeaux's confusion of mind, and restored his courage.
"Monseigneur," he said, "this Marchiali is the very same prisoner whom the other day a priest, confessor of our order, came to visit in so imperious and so secret a manner."
"I don't know that, monsieur," replied the bishop.