"Yet, I will not repine. That abject creature spoke of others who had been here and yet escaped, obtained their liberty, all but him, the hapless Masque de Fer, who drew his last breath in this gloomy dungeon. Bassompiere, Luxembourg, De Biron, all went forth to the world again. How many men have I not known myself who have been here? There was one, the old Comte de Tilly, who told me he had been incarcerated thirteen times, and that, whenever he saw the exempts in the street, he took off his hat to them, and asked if by any chance they happened to be seeking for him. And these walls," he exclaimed, looking up at the blackened sides of the room, "seem to bear testimony to many who have inhabited the place."
They did, indeed; for, written all over the grimy and smoky sides of the vault, were records left by those who had been incarcerated. In one part of the room near the barred fireplace, through which a child could not have crept, were the words: "The widow Lailly and her daughter were brought into this hell on the 27th September, 1701"; in another place was the name of a Neapolitan prince, one De Riccia, with his remarkable motto beneath it, "Empoisona ove Strangola." And there were scores of other names, of all countries: one, that of the Chevalier Lynch, gentleman, of Sligo in Ireland; another, Jean Cronier, redacteur, "Du Burlesk Gazette," Holland; a third, Magdalen de St. Michel, while in a different hand underneath was written, "who slew her husband, a King's sailor;" yet another, "the Curé de Méry, falsely accused of rioting and drunkenness"; and many more. And, still continuing his sad patrol of the room, he saw that at each corner of it were statues of the four Evangelists, so that he understood now why it should be called the "Room of the Chapel," though why the "second room" he never learned.
"So," he said, as he mused in his misery, "so this place has been holy ground, consecrated. Heavens! was ever a place of prayer turned to such vile use since the Temple became a den of thieves?"
As thus he pondered he heard the doors outside clanging, and a moment afterwards, the unbarring of the chapel door and the harsh grating of the key in the lock, a sound which was followed by the entrance of the turnkey, Bluet--who appeared now more drunk than before--and another man, also a turnkey.
"Ha!" said the former with a hiccough, "now to arrange the boudoir. Georges, disgorge thy burden and be gone. I have alone to do with Monsieur le Capitaine," and, as he spoke, he reeled across the room with a small folding table he had brought with him and placed it under the barred and latticed window, where the light streamed on it. Meanwhile, the other turnkey, Georges, had thrown down a huge bundle of what was evidently bedding, and departed, to return again a few moments later, with a tray, on which were several dishes.
"Voilà!" Bluet muttered as he arranged the table, "behold your first meal as guest of Madame la Bastille. A soup--of lentils--bon! bon! some cockscombs in vinegar--pas mal ça! some chip bread, beef full of gravy, with a garniture of parsley. Also the quarter septier of wine--and good, too, you see, of Bourgogne. Now for more furniture to accommodate our new guest." Whereon he reeled off to the passage and brought back a sound wooden chair, which he placed by the table, exclaiming, "Voilà! monsieur est server."
Seeing that the fellow, in spite of his drunkenness, was doing his best to treat him well, and reflecting also that much of any comfort he was likely to obtain might depend on him, Bertie resolved to make a friend of Bluet if possible; so, sitting down to the meal, he made a semblance of eating it; and as he did so he said:
"If I did not perceive that already you have been making free enough with the drink, I would ask you to join me. This great jar," touching the quarter septier, which contained half a gallon at least, "is more than I can consume in a week, yet you, I judge, could drink it all at a sitting."
"Facilement. I often do. And the wine is of the best. When St. Mars was governor here, he robbed the visitors, they say; took the King's money for the best and gave the worst. De Launey, now, is different."
"He is more generous, then?"