“Who is Marchiali?”
“The prisoner who was brought back this morning by M. d’Herblay.”
“He is called Marchiali?” said the superintendent, his conviction somewhat shaken by Baisemeaux’s cool manner.
“Yes, monseigneur; that is the name under which he was inscribed here.”
Fouquet looked steadily at Baisemeaux, as if he would read his very heart; and perceived, with that clear-sightedness most men possess who are accustomed to the exercise of power, that the man was speaking with perfect sincerity. Besides, in observing his face for a few moments, he could not believe that Aramis would have chosen such a confidant.
“It is the prisoner,” said the superintendent to him, “whom M. d’Herblay carried away the day before yesterday?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“And whom he brought back this morning?” added Fouquet, quickly: for he understood immediately the mechanism of Aramis’s plan.
“Precisely, monseigneur.”
“And his name is Marchiali, you say?”