At bottom the character of M. Bonacieux was one of profound selfishness
mixed with sordid avarice, the whole seasoned with extreme cowardice.
The love with which his young wife had inspired him was a secondary
sentiment, and was not strong enough to contend with the primitive
feelings we have just enumerated. Bonacieux indeed reflected on what had
just been said to him.

"But, Monsieur Commissary," said he, calmly, "believe that I know and
appreciate, more than anybody, the merit of the incomparable eminence by
whom we have the honor to be governed."

"Indeed?" asked the commissary, with an air of doubt. "If that is really
so, how came you in the Bastille?"

"How I came there, or rather why I am there," replied Bonacieux, "that
is entirely impossible for me to tell you, because I don't know myself;
but to a certainty it is not for having, knowingly at least, disobliged
Monsieur the Cardinal."

"You must, nevertheless, have committed a crime, since you are here and
are accused of high treason."

"Of high treason!" cried Bonacieux, terrified; "of high treason! How
is it possible for a poor mercer, who detests Huguenots and who abhors
Spaniards, to be accused of high treason? Consider, monsieur, the thing
is absolutely impossible."

"Monsieur Bonacieux," said the commissary, looking at the accused as if
his little eyes had the faculty of reading to the very depths of hearts,
"you have a wife?"

"Yes, monsieur," replied the mercer, in a tremble, feeling that it was
at this point affairs were likely to become perplexing; "that is to say,
I HAD one."

"What, you 'had one'? What have you done with her, then, if you have her
no longer?"

"They have abducted her, monsieur."

"They have abducted her? Ah!"

Bonacieux inferred from this "Ah" that the affair grew more and more
intricate.

"They have abducted her," added the commissary; "and do you know the man
who has committed this deed?"

"I think I know him."

"Who is he?"

"Remember that I affirm nothing, Monsieur the Commissary, and that I
only suspect."

"Whom do you suspect? Come, answer freely."

M. Bonacieux was in the greatest perplexity possible. Had he better deny
everything or tell everything? By denying all, it might be suspected
that he must know too much to avow; by confessing all he might prove his
good will. He decided, then, to tell all.

"I suspect," said he, "a tall, dark man, of lofty carriage, who has the
air of a great lord. He h