I promised to be there, and withdrew with a heavy heart. I paused to consider what next to do. If I were to go to the Bastille, I reflected, I might have opportunity to see the prisoner and exchange a word of comfort with him. Anything was better than doing nothing, so I set off towards the dismal old prison. I reached it in the course of half an hour and asked the sentry at the outer gate if I might see M. de Maison-Rouge.
“What name, monsieur?” he inquired.
I gave him my name, and he summoned a messenger, who returned in a few moments saying I was to enter. The gate opened and I was again in the outer court-yard.
“I know the way,” I said to the messenger, who started to accompany me.
“Nevertheless I must go with you, monsieur,” he replied. “It is the rule.”
I made no further objection, and he led me to the presence of the governor.
“Ah, M. de Brancas,” and he smiled as I entered, “you are early, but I was expecting you.”
“Doubtless,” I answered, dryly. “But tell me, may I see Richelieu?”
“I regret to say that you may not, monsieur. The regent has sent me a special order to allow the duke to see no one and to hold communication with no one.”
A chill ran through me at this new evidence of the regent’s purpose.