“Yes, yes,” said Aramis; “I now remember you already spoke about it last year to me; but the crime appeared to me so slight.”
“Slight, do you say?”
“Or rather, so involuntary.”
“My lord, it is not involuntarily that such a resemblance is detected.”
“Well, the fact is, I had forgotten it. But, my dear host,” said Aramis, closing the register, “if I am not mistaken, we are summoned.”
Baisemeaux took the register, hastily restored it to its place in the closet, which he locked, and put the key in his pocket. “Will it be agreeable to your lordship to breakfast now?” said he; “for you are right in supposing that breakfast was announced.”
“Assuredly, my dear governor,” and they passed into the dining-room.
99
The Breakfast at Monsieur de Baisemeaux’s
Aramis was generally temperate; but on this occasion, while taking every care of his constitution, he did ample justice to Baisemeaux’s breakfast, which, in all respects, was most excellent. The latter on his side, was animated with the wildest gayety; the sight of the five thousand pistoles, which he glanced at from time to time, seemed to open his heart. Every now and then he looked at Aramis with an expression of the deepest gratitude; while the latter, leaning back in his chair, took a few sips of wine from his glass, with the air of a connoisseur. “Let me never hear any ill words against the fare of the Bastille,” said he, half closing his eyes; “happy are the prisoners who can get only half a bottle of such Burgundy every day.”
“All those at fifteen francs drink it,” said Baisemeaux. “It is very old Volnay.”
“Does that poor student, Seldon, drink such good wine?”
“Oh, no!”
“I thought I heard you say he was boarded at fifteen francs.”
“He! no, indeed; a man who makes districts—distichs I mean—at fifteen francs! No, no! it is his neighbor who is at fifteen francs.”
“Which neighbor?”
“The other, second Bertaudière.”
“Excuse me, my dear governor; but you speak a language which requires quite an apprenticeship to understand.”
“Very true,” said the governor. “Allow me to explain: second Bertaudière is the person who occupies the second floor of the tower of the Bertaudière.”
“So that Bertaudière is the name of one of the towers of the Bastille? The fact is, I think I recollect hearing that each tower has a name of its own. Whereabouts is the one you are speaking of?”
“Look,” said Baisemeaux, going to the window. “It is that tower to the left—the second one.”
“Is the prisoner at fifteen francs there?”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“Seven or eight years, nearly.”
“What do you mean by nearly? Do you not know the dates more precisely?”
“It was not in my time, M. d’Herblay.”
“But I should have thought that Louvière or Tremblay would have told you.”
“The secrets of the Bastille are never handed over with the keys of the governorship.”
“Indeed! Then the cause of his imprisonment is a mystery—a state secret.”
“Oh, no! I do not suppose it is a state secret, but a secret—like everything that happens at the Bastille.”
“But,” said Aramis, “why do you speak more freely of Seldon than of second Bertaudière?”
“Because, in my opinion, the crime of the man who writes a distich is not so great as that of the man who resembles—”
“Yes, yes; I understand you. Still, do not the turnkeys talk with your prisoners?”
“Of course.”
“The prisoners, I suppose, tell them they are not guilty?”
“They are always telling them that; it is a matter of course; the same song over and over again.”
“But does not the resemblance you were speaking about just now strike the turnkeys?”
“My dear M. d’Herblay, it is only for men attached to the court, as you are, to take trouble about such matters.”
“You’re right, you’re right, my dear M. Baisemeaux. Let me give you another taste of this Volnay.”
“Not a taste merely, a full glass; fill yours too.”
“Nay, nay! You are a musketeer still, to the very tips of your fingers, while I have become a bishop. A taste for me; a glass for yourself.”
“As you please.” And Aramis and the governor nodded to each other, as they drank their wine. “But,” said Aramis, looking with fixed attention at the ruby-colored wine he had raised to the level of his eyes, as if he wished to enjoy it with all his senses at the same moment, “but what you might call a resemblance, another would not, perhaps, take any notice of.”
“Most certainly he would, though, if it were anyone who knew the person he resembles.”
“I really think, dear M. Baisemeaux, that it can be nothing more than a resemblance of your own creation.”
“Upon my honor, it is not so.”
“Stay,” continued Aramis. “I have seen many persons very like the one we are speaking of; but, out of respect, no one ever said anything about it.”
“Very likely; because there is resemblance and resemblance. This is a striking one, and, if you were to see him, you would admit it to be so.”
“If I were to see him, indeed,” said Aramis, in an indifferent tone; “but in all probability I never shall.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I were even to put my foot inside one of those horrible dungeons, I should fancy I was buried there forever.”
“No, no; the cells are very good places to live in.”
“I really do not, and cannot believe it, and that is a fact.”
“Pray do not speak ill of second Bertaudière. It is really a good room, very nicely furnished and carpeted. The young fellow has by no means been unhappy there; the best lodging the Bastille affords has been his. There is a chance for you.”
“Nay, nay,” said Aramis, coldly; “you will never make me believe there are any good rooms in the Bastille; and, as for your carpets, they exist only in your imagination. I should find nothing but spiders, rats, and perhaps toads, too.”
“Toads?” cried Baisemeaux.
“Yes, in the dungeons.”
“Ah! I don’t say there are not toads in the dungeons,” replied Baisemeaux. “But—will you be convinced by your
