"For his mistress."

Gaston sighed.

"For one's country."

"Yes," said Gaston, "it is that," seeing that he must say something.

The governor appeared to reflect.

"Monsieur," said he, "since I have been governor of the Bastille, my
only agreeable moments have been those in which I have been of service
to the gentlemen confided to my care by the king. I am ready to do
anything for you if you will promise to be reasonable."

"I promise you, monsieur."

"I can put you in communication with one of your compatriots, or at
least with a man who seems to know Bretagne perfectly."

"Is he a prisoner?"

"Like yourself."

A vague sentiment passed through Gaston's mind that it must be this man
who had slipped the note into his hand. "I should be very grateful if
you would do this," said he.

"Well, to-morrow you shall see him; but as I am recommended to be strict
with him, you can only remain with him an hour, and as he may not quit
his chamber, you must go to him."

"As you please, monsieur," said Gaston.

"Then it is decided; at five o'clock expect me or the major; but it is
on one condition."

"What is it?"

"That in consideration of this distraction you will eat a little
to-day."

"I will try."

Gaston eat a little chicken and drank a little wine to keep his promise.

In the evening he told Dumesnil what had passed.

"Ma foi," said he, "you are lucky; the Count de Laval had the same idea,
and all he got was to be put into a room in the tower Du Tresor, where
he said he was dreadfully dull, and had no amusement but speaking to the
prison apothecary."

"Diable!" said Gaston, "why did you not tell me that before?"

"I had forgotten it."

This tardy recollection troubled Gaston somewhat; placed as he was
between Pompadour, Dumesnil, and Mademoiselle de Launay, his position
was tolerable; if he were to be removed, he would be really attacked by
the malady he had feigned.

At the appointed time the major of the Bastille came, and led Gaston
across several courts, and they stopped at the tower Du Tresor. Every
tower had its separate name.

In the room number one was a prisoner asleep on a folding bed, with his
back turned to the light; the remains of his dinner were by him on a
worn-out wooden table, and his costume, torn in many places, indicated a
man of low station.

"Ouais," said Gaston, "did they think that I was so fond of Bretagne,
that any fellows who happened to have been born at Nismes or