"I see not how that is to be done," replied the Count. "If they had allowed me to have my valet here there would have been no difficulty, for I do not think that even stone walls would keep in his wit."
"Oh, we can do without him, I dare say," replied the old man. "If you write me down a note, containing few words, and no treason, doubtless I can find means, perhaps this very day, of sending it forth to any one that you will. In my apartment we shall find paper, which I got not long ago; some sort of ink we will easily manufacture for ourselves. So, come: that will revive hope a little for you; and though I cannot promise you an answer, yet perhaps one may be obtained too. There are old friends of mine that sometimes will drop in to see me; and what I propose to do, is to give your note to one of the prisoners I have spoken with, who expects to be liberated to-day or to-morrow, and direct the answer to be sent by some one who is likely to come to see me."
The young Count gladly availed himself of this proposal; and the means of writing having, by one prison resource or another, been obtained, he wrote a few brief words, detailing the anxiety and pain he suffered, and begging some immediate information as to the probability of his obtaining his freedom, and regarding the situation of those that he loved best. He couched his meaning in language as vague as possible, and addressed the note to his valet, Jerome Riquet, fearing to write to Clémence, lest he should by any means draw suspicion and consequent evil upon her. The old English officer undertook to give all the necessary directions for its delivery, and when they met again in the evening, he assured him that the note was gone.
At an early hour on the following morning the Englishman was called away from him to speak with some one admitted by an order from the minister; and in about ten minutes after he joined the Count, and slipped a small piece of folded paper into his hand, saying, in a low voice, "Do not look at it now, or leave me immediately, for there are several of these turnkeys about, and we must not create suspicion." After a few more turns, however, the old man said, "Now, Monsieur de Morseiul," and the Count hastening to his chamber, opened the note which was in the handwriting of Riquet.
"I have been obliged," it said, "to keep out of the way, and to change my shape a dozen times, on account of the business of the Exempt; but--from what the Count says, and from hearing that Monsieur de Louvois swore last night by all the gods that he worships, that, on account of some offence just given, he will bring the Count's head to the block within a week, as he did that of Monsieur de Rohan--a bold stroke will be struck to-day. The Count will be set at liberty about two o'clock, and the moment he is at liberty he must neither go to King nor ministers, nor to his own house, either in Paris or at Versailles, but to the little inn called the Golden Cock, in the Rue du Faubourg St. Antoine, call himself Monsieur du Sac, and ask for the horse his servant brought. Having got it, let him ride on for Poitou as fast as he can go. He will meet friends by the way."
This was all that the note contained, and what was the bold stroke that Riquet alluded to the Count could not divine. He judged, indeed, that perhaps it was quite as well he should be ignorant of the facts; and after having impressed all the directions contained in the note upon his mind, he destroyed the paper, and was preparing to go down again into the court.
It so happened, however, that he paused for a moment, and took up one of the books which he was still reading, when an officer, who was called the Major of the Bastille, entered the room, and summoned him to the presence of the governor. The Count immediately followed, and passing through the gate into the Court of Government, he found Besmaux waiting in the corps de garde, with a blithe and smiling countenance.
"Good morning, Monsieur de Morseiul," he said; "I have got some good news for you, which perhaps you do not expect."
He fixed his eyes scrutinisingly upon the Count's face, but all was calm. "Here is an order for your liberation," he continued, "which, doubtless, you will be glad to hear."
"Most glad," exclaimed the Count; "for, to say the truth, I am growing both sick and weary of this imprisonment, especially as I know that I have done nothing to deserve it."