ur de Laval appeared to have some
important news to communicate, and kept looking at Gaston as though he
were interested in it. As neither spoke to him, however, except in the
way of mere salutation, he asked no questions.

When the mass was over, the prisoners were taken back. As they crossed a
dark corridor, Gaston passed a man who seemed to be an employe of the
house. This man sought Gaston's hand, and slipped a paper into it, which
he put quietly into his waistcoat pocket.

When he was alone in his own room he eagerly took it out. It was written
on sugar paper, with the point of a sharpened coal, and contained this
line--"Feign illness from ennui."

It seemed to Gaston that the writing was not unknown to him, but it was
so roughly traced that it was difficult to recognize. He waited for the
evening impatiently, that he might consult with the Chevalier Dumesnil.

At night Gaston told him what had passed, asking him, as he had a longer
acquaintance with the Bastille, what he thought of the advice of his
unknown correspondent.

"Ma foi, though I do not understand the advice, I should follow it, for
it cannot hurt you; the worse that can happen is, that they may give you
less to eat."

"But," said Gaston, "suppose they discover the illness to be feigned."

"Oh! as to that," replied Dumesnil, "the doctor is entirely ignorant,
and will give you whatever you may ask for; perhaps they will let you
walk in the garden, and that would be a great amusement."

Gaston consulted Mademoiselle de Launay, whose advice, by logic or
sympathy, was the same as that of the chevalier; but she added,

"If they diet you, let me know, and I will send you chicken, sweets, and
Bordeaux."

Pompadour did not reply; the hole was not yet pierced.

Gaston then played the sick man, did not eat what they sent him, relying
on his neighbor's liberality. At the end of the second day M. de Launay
appeared--he had been told that Gaston was eating nothing, and he found
the prisoner in bed.

"Monsieur," he said, "I fear you are suffering, and have come to see
you."

"You are too good, monsieur," said Gaston; "it is true that I am
suffering."

"What is the matter?"

"Ma foi, monsieur, I do not know that there is any amour propre here; I
am ennuye in this place."

"What, in four or five days?"

"From the first hour."

"What kind of ennui do you feel?"

"Are there several?"

"Certainly--one pines for his family."

"I have none."