"What is his name?" asked Bertie.
"Monsieur, to many there are no names in the Bastille. Only numbers, with few exceptions, such as that of De Chevagny, of whom we are justly proud. He is a credit to us and to our care. Still, I doubt not you will soon find out the idiot's name. He has his sane moments, though they are few. But his principal remark is that he trusts the wheel is not too painful. 'Tis to that he is bound to go."
"An idiot! And sent to the wheel, even though a murderer! Will they do that?"
"Faith, they will. For, tenez, monsieur"--and he laid a dirty finger along his nose and looked slyly at Bertie--"he is a prisoner of the Church, of the priests. He has outraged them. Do you think he will escape their claws if he were forty thousand times as mad?"
"When shall I join this company?" asked Bertie. "I shall be glad to go. At least, the Marquis de Chevagny should be an interesting companion."
"At once. I will go fetch Pierre to assist in carrying up your baggage and furniture, and then the King's Lieutenant will escort you to the calotte. And, cheer up, 'tis high, but pleasant; you can see tout Paris, and the top windows of the Rue St. Antoine. Ma foi! a gay view, a fine retreat."
While the man was gone, Bertie placed the table and chair against the wall and sprang on top of them, and since it was Falmy's usual time for being at the window, was happy in finding him there. "Adieu," he signalled as rapidly as he possibly could, "I go to one of the calottes. I pray we may be able to correspond as before." Then in an instant he knew by the light in Falmy's face that such was the case, for he nodded and himself began to signal back: "If not the one above me, we can. I----" but at this moment Bertie heard Bluet coming back to the door, and, hurriedly jumping down, replaced the chair and table in their accustomed position. He had never been able to judge whether the turnkey would have remonstrated at this correspondence with another prisoner, and perhaps have caused it to be stopped. He did not, indeed, think he would do so, but he had always taken precautions to prevent him knowing what they did, and he took them now on this the last occasion.
Bluet was attended by the other turnkey, Pierre, and accompanied by the King's Lieutenant, who was second in command in the prison; and while the two former busied themselves in getting together his bed and linen, as well as his furniture, the latter addressed him with that French etiquette and politeness which so often does duty for kind-heartedness.
"Monsieur has, I trust, found himself as comfortable as circumstances will permit," he said, "and has wanted for nothing. The food served in this chapel is always of the first order."
"I have nothing to complain of," replied Elphinston; "since I am here, I must take what comes. Yet, I wish you would answer me a question or so, monsieur. You are, or have been, a soldier, like myself. May not that ancient comradeship of arms make you gracious enough to do so?"