“You know not what you are exposing yourself to,” rejoined the Judge; “there are means within this prison which would easily compel an answer.”
“None,” replied De Blenau, firmly. “My resolution is taken, and no power on earth can shake it.”
“Really, Monsieur de Blenau, it would hurt me to the heart to leave you to the dreadful fate which your mistaken determination is likely to call upon you. I could weep, truly I could weep, to think of what you are calling upon your own head;” and the Judge glanced his eye towards the machine, which we have already noticed, and from which the old man rose up, as if preparing for his task.
“You mean the torture?” said De Blenau, looking at it without a change of countenance. “But let me tell you, Monsieur Lafemas, that you dare not order it to a man of my rank, without an express warrant for the purpose; and, even if you had such authority, not all the torture in the world would wring one word from me. Ask that instrument of tyranny, Sir,” and he pointed to the Executioner,—“ask him how the noble Caply died; and so would De Blenau also.”
Lafemas looked at the Governor, and the Governor at the Executioner, and so round. One of the dreadful secrets of the Bastille had evidently escaped beyond those precincts to which they were fearfully confined; no one could divine how this had occurred, and each suspected the other. A temporary silence ensued, and then Lafemas proceeded:
“The torture! no, Monsieur de Blenau: God forbid that I should think of ordering such a thing! But let me advise you to answer; for I must, of course, report your refusal to the Cardinal Prime Minister, and you know that he is not likely to consider either your rank or your fortune, but will, in all probability, order you the Question ordinary and extraordinary instantly.”
“The guilt be his then!” said De Blenau. “I have already told you my resolution, Sir; act upon it as you think fit.”
Lafemas seemed at a loss, and a whispering consultation took place between him and the Secretary, who seemed to urge more vigorous measures than the Judge himself thought proper to pursue; for their conference was terminated by Lafemas exclaiming in a tone not sufficiently low to escape De Blenau’s ear, “I dare not, I tell you—I dare not—I have no orders.—Monsieur de Blenau,” he continued aloud, “you may now retire, and I must report your answers to the Cardinal. But let me advise you, as a sincere friend, to be prepared with a reply to the questions you have now refused to answer, before we next meet; for by that time I shall have received his Eminence’s commands, which, I fear, will be more severe than my heart could wish.”
De Blenau made no reply, but withdrew, escorted as before; and it were needless to deny, that, notwithstanding the coolness with which he had borne his examination, and the fortitude with which he was prepared to repel the worst that could be inflicted, his heart beat high as the door of the audience-hall closed behind him, and he looked forward to returning to his apartments with more pleasure than a captive usually regards the place of his confinement.
The many agitating circumstances which had passed since, had completely banished from his thoughts the voice which he had heard pronounce his name, on the first time of his crossing the court; but as he returned, his eye fell upon the form of a tall, strong man, standing under the archway; and he instantly recognized the Woodman of the forest of Mantes.