rtaudiere,"
said Baisemeaux, still intending the sentinels to hear him. Then,
turning to the jailer, he added: "You will take the opportunity of
carrying to No. 2 the few dainties I pointed out."

"Dear M. de Baisemeaux," said Aramis, "you are always forgetting No. 3."

"So I am," said the governor; and upon that, they began to ascend. The
number of bolts, gratings, and locks for this single courtyard would
have sufficed for the safety of an entire city. Aramis was neither an
imaginative nor a sensitive man; he had been somewhat of a poet in his
youth, but his heart was hard and indifferent, as the heart of every man
of fifty-five years of age is, who has been frequently and passionately
attached to women in his lifetime, or rather who has been passionately
loved by them. But when he placed his foot upon the worn stone steps,
along which so many unhappy wretches had passed, when he felt himself
impregnated, as it were, with the atmosphere of those gloomy dungeons,
moistened with tears, there could be but little doubt he was overcome
by his feelings, for his head was bowed and his eyes became dim, as he
followed Baisemeaux without a syllable.

CHAPTER 100. The Second Floor of la Bertaudiere

On the second flight of stairs, whether from fatigue or emotion, the
breathing of the visitor began to fail him, and he leaned against the
wall. "Will you begin with this one?" said Baisemeaux; "for since we are
going to both, it matters very little whether we ascend from the second
to the third story, or descend from the third to the second."

"No, no," exclaimed Aramis, eagerly, "higher, if you please; the one
above is the more urgent." They continued their ascent. "Ask the jailer
for the keys," whispered Aramis. Baisemeaux did so, took the keys, and,
himself, opened the door of the third room. The jailer was the first to
enter; he placed upon the table the provisions, which the kind-hearted
governor called dainties, and then left the room. The prisoner had
not stirred; Baisemeaux then entered, while Aramis remained at the
threshold, from which place he saw a youth about eighteen years of age,
who, raising his head at the unusual noise, jumped off the bed, as he
perceived the governor, and clasping his hands together, began to cry
out, "My mother, my mother," in tones which betrayed such deep distress
that Aramis, despite his command over himself, felt a shudder pass
through his frame. "My dear boy," said Baisemeaux,