“He has been dead fifteen years.”
“How long had he been in the Bastille?” they asked him.
“I know nothing about it,” he replied.
“Who are you?”
“I am the Elder-born of Space.”
He was mad.
Under the staircase, in a sort of tomb, they found two skeletons. Who were they? No one knew. The workmen took them away, and buried them in the Cemetery of St. Paul.
All the world wished to see the Bastille. They showed Latude’s ladder, that immense work of patience and of genius.
For a month the old place was not emptied.