“Keep your eyes on the stage, and be quiet!” said the Englishman.
In another moment Castanier saw himself flung into prison at the Conciergerie; and in the fifth act of the drama, entitled The Cashier, he saw himself, in three months’ time, condemned to twenty years of penal servitude. Again a cry broke from him. He was exposed upon the Place du Palais-de-Justice, and the executioner branded him with a red-hot iron. Then came the last scene of all; among some sixty convicts in the prison yard of the Bicetre, he was awaiting his turn to have the irons riveted on his limbs.
“Dear me! I cannot laugh any more!...” said Aquilina. “You are very solemn, dear boy; what can be the matter? The gentleman has gone.”
“A word with you, Castanier,” said Melmoth when the piece was at an end, and the attendant was fastening Mme. de la Garde’s cloak.
The corridor was crowded, and escape impossible.
“Very well, what is it?”
“No human power can hinder you from taking Aquilina home, and going next to Versailles, there to be arrested.”
“How so?”
“Because you are in a hand that will never relax its grasp,” returned the Englishman.
Castanier longed for the power to utter some word that should blot him out from among living men and hide him in the lowest depths of hell.