Terrified, confused, and ignorant of the Woodman’s name, Pauline faltered forth, unconscious of what she said, “I do not know.”
“Ha! ha! ha! thou sayest well, my pretty damsel,” cried the Governor laughing, and thinking that she answered his jest in kind. “It is a wise father that knows his own child; and why not a wise child that knows his own father? But without a joke, what is your supposed father’s name?”
“My supposed father!” repeated Pauline, in the same state of perturbation; “Oh, Philip the Woodman.”
“Nay, nay,” replied the Governor, “that does not answer my meaning either. What is the surname of this Philip the Woodman?”
The impossibility of answering overpowered her. Pauline had not the most remote idea of Philip’s name, and another instant would indubitably have betrayed all; but at the moment the Governor asked his question, Philip had entered the court. He had heard the last sentence, saw Pauline’s embarrassment, and divining its cause, with quick presence of mind caught her in his arms, and kissed her on both cheeks, with that sort of fatherly affection which would have deceived the Governor’s eyes by day, much less by the fainter light of the lanterns in the archway.
“My dear child!” cried he, “how art thou? and how is thy mother?” And then turning to the Governor, without giving her time to reply, he went on, “My name, Sir, which you were asking but now, is Philip Grissolles, but I am better known by the name of Philip the Woodman, and some folks add the name of the wood, and call me Philip the Woodman of Mantes.”
“Philip Grissolles!” said the Governor; “very well, that will do. It was your surname that I wished to know, for it is not put down in the order for your detention, and it must be inserted in the books. And now, Monsieur Philip Grissolles, you may take your daughter to your cell; but remember that you have to wait upon the Count de Blenau in half an hour, by which time I shall have returned. You can leave your daughter in your cell till you have done attending the Count, if you like.”
He then proceeded to the gate, and beckoning to the Porter, he whispered to him, “Do not let her go out till I come back. It is seldom that we have any thing like that in the Bastille! Doubtless, that Woodman would be glad to have her with him; if so, we will find her a cell.”
Philip turned his ear to catch what the Governor was saying, but not being able to hear it distinctly, he addressed himself to Pauline loud enough to reach every one round. “Come,” said he, “ma fille, you are frightened at all these towers and walls and places; but it is not so unpleasant after one is in it either. Take my arm, and I’ll show you the way.”
Pauline was glad to accept of his offer, for her steps faltered so much that she could hardly have proceeded without assistance; and thus, leaning on the Woodman, she was slowly conducted through a great many narrow passages, to the small vaulted chamber in which he was lodged.