No man, possibly, ever presented a greater contrast between his own appearance and the dreaded position which he occupied than did Jourdan de Launey, then an old man approaching his end. He was very thin and very bald, with beady black eyes and a rosy face which gave him the appearance of extreme good humour, while that which rivetted the attention of everyone who saw him for the first time was the extraordinary shaking, or palsy, that possessed him always. Even now, as he stood before the huge, roaring fire, holding out the palms of his hands to it and lifting first one foot and then another to its warmth, he shook and shivered so that he seemed as though dying of cold.
To him the handsomely apparelled officer--whom Bertie soon learned bore the rank of the "King's Lieutenant of his Majesty's fortress of the Bastille"--addressed himself, saying that the Captain Elphinston had arrived; whereon De Launey turned his back to the fire, regarded Bertie for a moment, and then held out a long, white, shivering hand, which the other, as he took it, thought might well have belonged to a corpse.
"Sir," he said, in a voice of extreme sweetness, though somewhat shaken by his tremblings, "you are very welcome, though I fear this abode may scarcely be so to you. Yet I beg of you to believe that what can be done to put you at your ease and make you comfortable shall be done. Moreover, permit me to tell you that which I tell all my visitors who are not of the lower classes, nor murderers and ruffians, who need not to be considered, that your visit here by no means brings with it a loss of self-respect or of social position. The Bastille is not a prison, as the canaille think; is not Bicêtre nor even Vincennes; it is a place where gentlemen are simply detained at the pleasure of his Majesty, and when they go forth they go unstained. If you will remember that, Monsieur le Capitaine," he continued with increased sweetness of voice, "you will, I think, repine less at our hospitality."
Bertie bowed, as, indeed, he could not but do to such extreme politeness, no matter how much he resented his incarceration, then he said:
"Sir, I am obliged to you for your civility. Yet, monsieur, if you would add to it by telling me with what I am charged and why I am brought here at all, you would greatly increase my obligation."
"Monsieur le Capitaine," replied the Governor, "I regret to refuse--but it is impossible. That you cannot know until you appear before the Lieutenant of the Civil Government, or Examiner, who comes here at periods to examine our visitors. Then, by the questions he will ask, you will undoubtedly be able to surmise with what you are charged."
"And when will he come, monsieur?"
"I know," he replied, with a shrug of his shoulders which so blended into one of his shivers that it was almost imperceptible, "no more than you do. He comes when it pleases him, or, perhaps, I might more truthfully say, when he has time, and then he interrogates those whom, also, it pleases him. Sometimes it is our latest guest"--De Launey never by any chance used the word "prisoner"--"sometimes those who have been here for years. And some there are who have been here for many--but no matter!" Then, turning to the King's Lieutenant, he bade that officer give him Captain Elphinston's mittimus, or the stamped letter containing the order for his reception and security.
This letter he read carefully, during which time it shook so in his palsied hands that Bertie could not but wonder how he could distinguish the characters in it; after which he looked up with his good-humoured smile and said:
"Sir, I felicitate you. You are of the first class of guests; beyond restriction you will have little to complain of. The King"--and he raised his tottering white hand to his forehead as though saluting that monarch in person--"is, you know, your host; your pension will be of the best. Secretary," he said, turning round sharply to the man at the table, "read to the captain the bill of fare for the principal guests."