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That this man was following him was therefore scarcely to be doubted, and, determined to see whether such was the case, he crossed the road, stared under his hat, which was drawn well down over his features, and then walked slowly on towards the Pont Neuf. Also, he took the precaution of loosening his sword in its sheath.

If he had had any doubts-which was not the case-they would soon have been resolved, since, as he proceeded along the narrow footway by the parapet, the man followed him at the same pace. Then, instantly, Bertie stopped, faced around, and, walking back half-a-dozen paces, said to him:

"Monsieur has business with me without doubt. Be good enough to explain it," and now he lifted his sword in its scabbard so that, while he held the sheath in the left hand, his right grasped the handle.

"I-I-" the man stammered. "Yes, Monsieur Elphinston-"

"Monsieur Elphinston! so you know me?" and a light flashed on his mind. "Monsieur Elphinston. Ha! Perhaps it was you who inquired for me at the north gate yesterday?"

"Yes, monsieur," the man replied respectfully; "it was I who did so."

"Who are you, then? What is your affair with me that you track me thus?"

"I am servant to Carvel, the exempt. I have orders to keep you in view."

"Servant to an exempt!⁵ What, pray, has an exempt to do with me?" Bertie asked in astonishment.

"That, monsieur," the man said, still very respectfully, "I cannot say. I but obey my orders, do my duty. I received instructions that you were to be kept under watch from the time you entered Paris, and I am carrying them out-must carry them out."

"Where is this exempt to be found, this man Carvel? We will have the matter regulated at once. Where is he, I say?"

"If monsieur would be so complaisant as to follow me-it is but across the Pont Neuf-doubtless monsieur will make everything clear."

"Lead on," Bertie said, "I will follow you, or, since you may doubt me, will go first."

"If monsieur pleases."

At this period, and indeed for long afterwards, Paris was too often the scene of terrible outrages committed on unprotected persons. Men-sometimes even women-were inveigled into houses under one pretence or another and robbed, oftentimes murdered for whatever they might chance to have about them, and, frequently, were never heard of again. That this was the case Bertie knew perfectly well, yet-even after the mysterious murder of his friend at Amiens-he had not the slightest belief that anything of a similar nature was intended towards him. First, he was a soldier and known by the man behind him to be one; he was armed, although now dressed as a civilian, and therefore a dangerous man to attack. And, next, none who knew aught of him could suppose that it would be worth while to endeavour to rob him. The Scots officers serving in France were no fit game for such as got their living by preying on their fellow-creatures.

Still he could not but muse deeply on what could possibly be the object of any exempt in subjecting him to such espionage, while at the same time he hastened his footsteps over the bridge so as at once to arrive at a solution of the matter.

"Here is the bureau of Monsieur Carvel," said the spy, as on reaching the northern side of the river he directed his companion to a house almost facing the approach to the bridge; "doubtless he will explain all."

"Doubtless," replied Elphinston. "Summon him."

The door was opened an instant after the man had rapped on it, and another man, plainly dressed and evidently of the inferior orders, though of a respectable type, admitted them to a room on the left-hand side of the passage; a room on the walls of which hung several weapons-a blunderbuss, a musquetoon or so, some swords-which Bertie noticed were mostly of fashionable make with parchment labels attached to them-and one or two pairs of gyves, or fetters. Also, on the walls were some roughly-printed descriptions of persons, in some cases illustrated with equally rough wood-cuts.

"So!" said the man, looking first at the spy and then at Elphinston. "So! Whom have we here?"

"Monsieur le Capitaine Elphinston," the other replied. "Learning, Monsieur Carvel, your desire to meet with him from me, he elected to visit you at once."

"Tiens! It will save much trouble. Monsieur le Capitaine is extremely obliging."

"Sir," said Bertie sternly, "I am not here with the intention of conferring any obligation upon you. I wish to know why I, an officer of the King, serving in the Regiment of Picardy, am tracked and spied upon by your follower, or servant. I wish a full explanation of why I am subjected to this indignity."

"Monsieur, the explanation is very simple. An order signed by the Vicomte d'Argenson has been forwarded to me for your arrest, and with it a lettre de cachet."

"A lettre de cachet!"

"Yes, monsieur. A lettre de cachet, ordering me to convey you to the Bastille."

"My God!"

CHAPTER XXI
THE BASTILLE

"La Bastille! où toute personne, quels que soient son rang, son âge, son sexe, peut entrer sans savoir pourquoi, rester sans savoir combien, en attendant d'en sortir sans savoir comment."

– Servan.

"On what charge is that letter issued?" asked Elphinston a moment later, when he had recovered somewhat from the stupefaction into which the exempt's last words had thrown him. "On what charge?"

"Monsieur," the man replied, "how can I answer you? Nay! who could do so? Not even De Launey, the Governor, could tell you that. These billets-doux are none too explicit. They order us, the exempts, in one letter to arrest; the Governor, in another, to receive. But that is all. It is from the examiners, the judges, from D'Argenson himself, wise child of a wise father! that you must seek an explanation."

"But there is no possible reason for it, no earthly charge that can be brought against me. It must be a mistake!"

"So all say," the exempt exclaimed, repressing a faint smile that rose to his features. "Yet, here is the name, very clearly written," and he took from his pocket the lettre de cachet, impressed with a great stamp, and read from it: – "'Elphinston. Scotch. Capitaine du Regiment de Picardy. Troop Fifth, at St. Denis.' That is you, monsieur?"

"Yes," Bertie said with a gasp. "It is I. No doubt about that."

There rose before his mind, as he spoke, every story, every legend he had ever heard in connection with the Bastille. And although it is true that, in the days when that fortress existed, it was not regarded in so terrible a light as time and fiction have since cast upon its memory, it still presented itself in a sufficiently appalling aspect. Men undoubtedly went in and came out after very short intervals of incarceration-some doing so two or three times a year-yet, if all reports were true, there were some sent there who never came out again. Moreover, few who were committed could ever learn the reason whereof until they were ultimately released, and no communication whatever, except by stealth and great good fortune could be made with the outer world. From the time the gates closed on them they were lost to that outer world for the period-long or short-which they passed there. This knowledge alone, without the aid of time and fiction, was, indeed, sufficient to make Elphinston gasp.

"When," he asked, after another pause for reflection on the state in which he now found himself, "does that lettre de cachet come into operation-when do you propose to put it into force?"

"Monsieur," replied Carvel, with a swift glance at him and another at the man standing behind, "it has come into operation; it is already in force."

"You mean-?"

"I mean that you have surrendered yourself without having to be sought for-without having to be arrested. Please to consider it in that light, monsieur."

"To consider it in the light that I am to be conveyed to the Bastille from here-at once?"

"If monsieur pleases. Though not at once-not this immediate instant. Monsieur de Launey prefers to receive those who are sent to him at eight o'clock in the morning. That is his hour of reception."

Again Bertie paused an instant, then said:

"In such case I may advise my friends of this detention. It will ease their minds-and it can be done before eight o'clock. It is now scarcely midnight."

"I regret to have to say No, monsieur," and Bertie started at his reply. "Such would be against all order, all rule. From the moment the persons named in the lettres de cachet are in our hands they can have no further communication with their friends."

"What if I refuse to comply with your demands-with the demands of that lettre de cachet? What then, I say?"

"Monsieur is here," the exempt replied, "that is sufficient. It is too late for him now to retreat. We are furnished with attendants for escorting to the Bastille those who are arrested; monsieur will perceive it would be vain for him to contend against us. There are at the present moment half-a-dozen such attendants in this house."

"So be it," said Bertie, "I will not contend. Some absurd mistake has been made that will be rectified as soon as I have seen the Governor."

"Sans doute," replied the exempt; "meanwhile let me suggest to monsieur that he should rest until it is necessary to set out. He may yet have some hours of refreshing sleep."

"I do not desire to sleep," Bertie said, "only to be left alone. Is that impossible, too?"

"By no means. We have a room here in which monsieur may remain at his ease. But," and he pointed to the labelled swords hanging on the walls, "it is our habit to disembarrass all who are brought here of their weapons. Those who are arrested at their own houses or lodgings leave them in custody there. But monsieur may rest assured of his weapon being quite safe. If he comes out to-morrow or-or-or-a month later, say, it will be at his service."

"If," replied Bertie, taking off his diamond-cut civilian sword, "it had been the weapon of my profession, you should never have had it. As it is-take it."

"Keep it carefully," said Carvel to his men, "until Monsieur le Capitaine returns. I guarantee you 'twill not be long ere he does so. I myself believe, monsieur, a mistake has been made. 'Tis not with such metal as you that Madame la Bastille is ordinarily stuffed."

After this, and on receiving Bertie's word of honour that he had no other weapon of any kind, knife nor pistol, about him, he was shown into a room at the back of the house, where the exempt told him he would be quite undisturbed-a room the window of which, he noticed, was cross-barred, and with, outside the window, a high blank wall. Here he passed the night in reflections of the most melancholy nature, wondering and wondering again and again on what unknown possibility could have led to this new phase in his existence. At one moment-so far afield did he have to go to seek for some cause for his arrest-he mused, if by any chance Fordingbridge could have come to Paris and, exercising some to him unknown influence, have procured the lettre de cachet. Yet he was obliged to discard this idea from his mind as he had discarded others, when he reflected that nothing was more unlikely than that the minister of the King would have signed an order for the incarceration of one Englishman at the request of another. But, with this conjecture dismissed, he had to content himself and remain as much in the dark as before.

At seven o'clock the exempt came to him and told him that it was time to set out.

"A coach is ready, monsieur," he said, "all is now prepared. Would you desire to make any toilette before your departure?"

Bertie said he would, and when he had done this, laving his face and washing his hands in a basin brought him by two of Carvel's attendants, he announced that he was prepared to accompany him.

"Perhaps when I have seen the Governor of the Bastille," he said, "I shall better understand why I am confided to his keeping."

To which once more the other replied, "Sans doute."

Everything being therefore ready, Carvel and Elphinston entered the coach, while, of four men who had appeared on the scene that morning, two went inside with them, and the others, mounting horses, rode on either side of the vehicle. In this way they progressed through the small portion of the city necessary to be traversed, arriving at the fortress exactly as the great clock over the doorway-decorated with a bas relief representing two slaves manacled together-struck eight. That their destination was apparent to those members of the populace by whom they passed it was easy to perceive. Women and men, hurrying to their shops and places of business, regarded the party with glances which plainly showed that they knew whither they were going, the former doing so with terrified and uneasy looks, the latter according to their disposition. Of these, some laughed and made jeering allusions to the morning ride which the gentleman was taking; some frowned with disapproval; and some there were who muttered to one another, "How long? How long shall we groan under the tyranny of our masters?" while others answered, "Not for ever! It cannot be for ever, though the good God alone knows when the end will come. Perhaps not even in our day!"

"Descend, monsieur," said the exempt, as the coach drew up; then, turning to some sentinels within the gate which opened to receive them, he remarked, "Couvrez-vous, messieurs."

Surprised at this order, which Bertie did not understand, he glanced at the soldiers standing about and observed that, as he approached them, they removed their hats from their heads and placed them before their faces until he had passed by, so that they could by no means have seen what his appearance was like. And to the inquiring look which he directed to his captain, the exempt replied, with a slight laugh:

"Madame la Bastille endeavours ever to be a polite hostess. She thinks it not well that these fellows, who are not always in her service, should be able afterwards to recognise her guests when they have quitted her hospitable roof. Vraiment! her manners are of the most finished. Come, Monsieur Elphinston, Jourdan de Launey attends us.⁶ He rises ever at seven, so as to welcome those who arrive early. Come, I beg."

Following, therefore, his guide, and followed by the men who had escorted them, Bertie crossed a drawbridge and a courtyard, and then arrived at a flight of stone stairs let into the wall, at which was stationed an officer handsomely dressed, who, on seeing Elphinston, bowed politely to him and requested that he would do him the honour to accompany him to the Governor. Then, turning round on the exempt's followers who came behind them, he said in a very different tone:

"Stay where you are. Do you suppose we require your services to welcome the arrivals? And for you, Monsieur l'Exempt, we will rejoin you later." Whereon he opened a small door off the staircase and led Bertie into a room.

A room which astonished the young man as he stepped into it; for, although he had often talked with people in Paris who had been imprisoned in the Bastille, and had heard that some parts of it were sumptuously furnished, he had not imagined that even the Governor possessed such an apartment as this. It was, indeed, so large as to be almost a hall, though the gorgeous hangings of yellow damask fringed with silver and with lace made it look smaller, while at the same time they imparted a brilliancy to the vastness of the room; and some cabinets, bureaux, and couches distributed about also served to give it a comfortable appearance. In front of a blazing fire-so great, indeed, that the wonder was that any mortal could approach near it-there stood, warming his hands, the Governor, De Launey himself, while seated close by at a table covered with papers was a miserable-looking person who was engaged in writing.

No man, possibly, ever presented a greater contrast between his own appearance and the dreaded position which he occupied than did Jourdan de Launey, then an old man approaching his end. He was very thin and very bald, with beady black eyes and a rosy face which gave him the appearance of extreme good humour, while that which rivetted the attention of everyone who saw him for the first time was the extraordinary shaking, or palsy, that possessed him always. Even now, as he stood before the huge, roaring fire, holding out the palms of his hands to it and lifting first one foot and then another to its warmth, he shook and shivered so that he seemed as though dying of cold.

To him the handsomely apparelled officer-whom Bertie soon learned bore the rank of the "King's Lieutenant of his Majesty's fortress of the Bastille" – addressed himself, saying that the Captain Elphinston had arrived; whereon De Launey turned his back to the fire, regarded Bertie for a moment, and then held out a long, white, shivering hand, which the other, as he took it, thought might well have belonged to a corpse.

"Sir," he said, in a voice of extreme sweetness, though somewhat shaken by his tremblings, "you are very welcome, though I fear this abode may scarcely be so to you. Yet I beg of you to believe that what can be done to put you at your ease and make you comfortable shall be done. Moreover, permit me to tell you that which I tell all my visitors who are not of the lower classes, nor murderers and ruffians, who need not to be considered, that your visit here by no means brings with it a loss of self-respect or of social position. The Bastille is not a prison, as the canaille think; is not Bicêtre nor even Vincennes; it is a place where gentlemen are simply detained at the pleasure of his Majesty, and when they go forth they go unstained. If you will remember that, Monsieur le Capitaine," he continued with increased sweetness of voice, "you will, I think, repine less at our hospitality."

Bertie bowed, as, indeed, he could not but do to such extreme politeness, no matter how much he resented his incarceration, then he said:

"Sir, I am obliged to you for your civility. Yet, monsieur, if you would add to it by telling me with what I am charged and why I am brought here at all, you would greatly increase my obligation."

"Monsieur le Capitaine," replied the Governor, "I regret to refuse-but it is impossible. That you cannot know until you appear before the Lieutenant of the Civil Government, or Examiner, who comes here at periods to examine our visitors. Then, by the questions he will ask, you will undoubtedly be able to surmise with what you are charged."

"And when will he come, monsieur?"

"I know," he replied, with a shrug of his shoulders which so blended into one of his shivers that it was almost imperceptible, "no more than you do. He comes when it pleases him, or, perhaps, I might more truthfully say, when he has time, and then he interrogates those whom, also, it pleases him. Sometimes it is our latest guest" – De Launey never by any chance used the word "prisoner" – "sometimes those who have been here for years. And some there are who have been here for many-but no matter!" Then, turning to the King's Lieutenant, he bade that officer give him Captain Elphinston's mittimus, or the stamped letter containing the order for his reception and security.

This letter he read carefully, during which time it shook so in his palsied hands that Bertie could not but wonder how he could distinguish the characters in it; after which he looked up with his good-humoured smile and said:

"Sir, I felicitate you. You are of the first class of guests; beyond restriction you will have little to complain of. The King" – and he raised his tottering white hand to his forehead as though saluting that monarch in person-"is, you know, your host; your pension will be of the best. Secretary," he said, turning round sharply to the man at the table, "read to the captain the bill of fare for the principal guests."

This man, who seemed, at least, to derive no great good from his position, seeing that he was miserably clad in an old suit of ragged Nismes serge, a pair of old blue breeches loose at the knees, and a wig which had scarcely any hair left on it, began to read from a paper, when, to Bertie's astonishment, a very different voice from the soft tones he had recently been listening to issued from the Governor's lips; and in a harsh, commanding way De Launey exclaimed:

"Fellow, stand up before gentlemen! Mort de ma vie! do you dare to sit and read before us?" Whereon the wretched creature sprang up as though under the lash, and began hastily to gabble out:

"Dejeuner à lafourchette. Potage. A quarter of a fowl or a slice of ox beef. A pie, a sheep's tongue or a ragout, biscuits, and rennets. A quarter septier of wine, to suffice also for dinner and supper. Dinner: A loaf, soup, petite pâté's, roast veal or mutton, pigeon or pullet, or beef and toasted bread. Supper: A fish of the season, or a bird and a chipped loaf. By order of the King, to the extent of 150 sols a day."

As he read from his paper-to which the visitor paid but little attention, since he cared nothing about the meals he might receive-De Launey nodded and wagged his head with approbation, and, when he finished, exclaimed:

"A noble King! Fellow," to the secretary, "begone! Go seek the turnkey, Bluet, and bid him prepare for Monsieur le Capitaine the second chamber of the chapel."

"The second chamber of the chapel! The best apartment!"

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed De Launey, while he shook terribly, "do my infirmities render me unintelligible? Ay, the second chamber; and for you, if ever you misunderstand me again, the vault under the ditch where the malefactors lie!" Then, putting out his long, white, trembling hand-while all the time he smiled blandly-he nipped the man's arm between two fingers and repeated, "Where the malefactors lie! Where the man was eaten alive by rats! Tu comprends, cher ami? Go. The second chamber in the chapel for Monsieur le Capitaine. Va!"

The man left the room quickly, casting a glance, half of terror and half of hate, on De Launey, who, after regarding him till he was gone, turned round to Elphinston with his pleasant smile, and said, "A vile wretch that. Yet a useful one, and bound to me by the deepest ties of gratitude. Sent here by the Jesuits some years ago. Ha! ha! The holy fathers know how to obtain the lettres de cachet! for an unspeakable crime-the corruption of a nun to Protestantism, saved his life by telling them that he was the man who had been eaten by the rats, though 'twas another. Thus I bound him to me for ever. He writes a most beautiful hand, knows the history of every man in the Bastille, and-ha! ha! – draws no recompense. The Inquisition injured my family once-they burnt an aunt of mine in Seville-therefore I love to thwart them."

Bertie inclined his head to show that he heard the Governor's words; then the latter continued in his mellifluous strains:

"Now, Captain Elphinston, I must tell you that you should try and make yourself as comfortable as possible here. Above all, do not dream of an escape. Many have done so; few have succeeded-the Abbé du Bacquoy alone of late years.⁷ For the walls are thick-oh, so thick! – between each room there is a space of many feet-the windows are barred; so, too, are the fireplaces; the ceilings cannot be reached by two men standing one on the other's shoulders. Moreover, a visitor seen outside his window, or on the roofs or walls, could not escape the eyes of the sentries, and would be shot-poof! – like a sparrow. Monsieur, let me beg you, therefore, to content yourself with our hospitality. Later on-if you are not recalled-we will perhaps give you some companions; we wish our guests to have the enjoyment of society. Monsieur le Capitaine, here is Bluet, who will conduct you to your apartment. Au revoir. I trust sincerely you will be at your ease."

Again the ice-cold, shivering hand clasped that of Elphinston, De Launey bowed to him with as much grace as though he were taking part in a minuet, and, following the turnkey, who had come in with the secretary, the prisoner went forth to his chamber.

Descending the stairs and out by the small door in the wall, he passed again through the Corps de Garde, all the members of which once more instantly took off their hats and held them before their faces. Then he was led across a great court and in at a square door painted green, and so up three small steps on to a great staircase, at the bottom of which were two huge iron doors that clanged with an ominous sound behind him. At the head of this staircase were three more gates, one after the other-wooden gates covered with iron plates-and when these were locked behind Elphinston also, another iron-bound door was opened, and he stood within a great vaulted room, some sixty feet long and about fifteen in breadth, and the same in height.

"Voilà!" exclaimed the secretary, "behold the second room of the chapel. Mon Dieu! a fine apartment for an untitled guest! But the old animal will have his way. Yet, why this room of princes? 'Twas here the man with the iron mask died, they say; here that the Duke of Luxembourg and the Marshals de Biron and Bassompiere once reposed."

"At least," said Bertie, casting his eyes round the vault-for such it was-"I trust there was more accommodation for those illustrious personages than there appears for me. Am I to sleep on the floor, and lie on it also in the day? There is neither bed nor chair here."

"All in good time, brave captain," replied Bluet, the turnkey, who even at this early period of the morning appeared to be half drunk-"all in good time, noble captain. I shall make your room a fitting boudoir for a duchess ere night. Have no fear."

"Now," said the secretary, "give up all you have about you."

"What!"

"All, everything," replied the other. "Oh, be under no apprehension; we do not rob the King's guests; oh, no! Every visitor to this delectable castle has to do the same, even though he be a prince of the blood. I shall give you a note for what you hand me, and on your sortie you will see all is as you handed to me. Yet the old cochon, De Launey, loveth trinkets for his wife-young enough to be his daughter; if you have a ring or a jewel, you can part with it; it will be to your advantage."

"Friend," said Elphinston, "I am a soldier who has fought in hard wars, sometimes without even receiving a sol of any pay-as in the last campaign in Scotland-what should I have? See, I have no rings on my fingers, no watch to my pocket, no solitaire to my cravat. Yet, here is my purse with a few Louis d'ors and one gold quadruple pistole; count those, if you will," and he pitched it into the secretary's ragged hat as he spoke.

The man told over the coins, muttering that the large piece was bien forte et trébuchante, then made an accurate note of them and gave the list to Bertie. "All," he said again, "will be returned you on your exit, unless you choose to give them to Bluet and me. We get little enough, though God knows we have also little enough-at least, I have-of opportunities for spending. Yet even here one may have his little pleasures," and he winked at Bertie, who turned from him in disgust.

"No trinkets on the bosom," he went on questioningly, "no lockets, nor crosses, nor reliquaries of saints? Humph!"

"There is," replied Elphinston, "on my breast a bag of satin, in which is a lock of hair-the hair of the woman whom I love. Fellow, do you think I will let you take that, or even fasten your foul eyes on it! Ask me no more; otherwise I will speak to the Governor."

"It is against the rules," said the other, "quite against the rules, yet-"

"Curse the rules!"

"Yet," he said, "so that when you leave us you will give me one, only one of those pieces, I will not insist."

"Leave me," said Bertie, and his voice was so stern that, followed by the turnkey, the man slunk out of the room, and a moment afterwards the heavy door was locked and barred on him.