in his politeness,
called the turnkeys and jailers.

"Yes, monsieur; and these attentions paid to a prisoner have surprised
me, I own."

"The bed is hard and old, but yet it is one of the best; luxury being
forbidden by our rules. Your room, monsieur, is the best in the
Bastille; it has been occupied by the Duc d'Angouleme, by the Marquis de
Bassompierre, and by the Marshals de Luxembourg and Biron; it is here
that I lodge the princes when his majesty does me the honor to send them
to me."

"It is an excellent lodging," said Gaston, smiling, "though ill
furnished; can I have some books, some paper, and pens?"

"Books, monsieur, are strictly forbidden; but if you very much wish to
read, as many things are allowed to a prisoner who is ennuye, come and
see me, then you can put in your pocket one of those volumes which my
wife or I leave about; you will hide it from all eyes; on a second
visit you will take the second volume, and to this abstraction we will
close our eyes."

"And paper, pens, ink?" said Gaston, "I wish most particularly to
write."

"No one writes here, monsieur; or, at least, only to the king, the
regent, the minister, or to me; but they draw, and I can let you have
drawing-paper and pencils."

"Monsieur, how can I thank you sufficiently for your kindness?"

"By granting me the request I came to make, for my visit is an
interested one. I came to ask if you would do me the honor to dine with
me to-day?"

"With you, monsieur! truly, you surprise me; however, I cannot tell you
how sensible I am of your courtesy, and should retain for it an
everlasting gratitude if I had any prospect but death before my eyes."

"Death! monsieur, you are gloomy; you should not think of these
things--forget them and accept--"

"I do, monsieur."

"A la bonne heure," said the governor, bowing to Gaston, "I will take
back your answer;" and he went out, leaving the prisoner plunged in a
new train of ideas.

The politeness which at first charmed the chevalier, on reflection began
to arouse some suspicion. Might it not be intended to inspire him with
confidence, and lead him on to betray himself and his companions; he
remembered the tragic chronicle of the Bastille, the snares laid for
prisoners, and that famous dungeon chamber so much spoken of, which none
who had entered ever left alive. Gaston felt himself alone and
abandoned. He also felt that the crime he had meditated deserved death;
did not all these flatteri