“And so there are no orders,” repeated Baisemeaux with a sigh. “What an admirable situation yours is captain,” he continued, after a pause, “captain-lieutenant of the musketeers.”
“Oh, it is good enough; but I don’t see why you should envy me; you, governor of the Bastile, the first castle in France.”
“I am well aware of that,” said Baisemeaux, in a sorrowful tone of voice.
“You say that like a man confessing his sins. I would willingly exchange my profits for yours.”
“Don’t speak of profits to me if you wish to save me the bitterest anguish of mind.”
“Why do you look first on one side and then on the other, as if you were afraid of being arrested yourself, you whose business it is to arrest others?”
“I was looking to see whether any one could see or listen to us; it would be safer to confer more in private, if you would grant me such a favor.”
“Baisemeaux, you seem to forget we are acquaintances of five and thirty years’ standing. Don’t assume such sanctified airs; make yourself quite comfortable; I don’t eat governors of the Bastile raw.”
“Heaven be praised!”
“Come into the courtyard with me, it’s a beautiful moonlight night; we will walk up and down arm in arm under the trees, while you tell me your pitiful tale.” He drew the doleful governor into the courtyard, took him by the arm as he had said, and, in his rough, good-humored way, cried: “Out with it, rattle away, Baisemeaux; what have you got to say?”