The Man in the Iron Mask
The General of the Order.
There was now a silence, which Aramis his from Baisemeaux for a moment. The only to himself thus in the middle of supper, and it was clear he was trying to some pretext, good or bad, for delay, at any till after dessert. And it appeared also that he had upon an at last.
“Eh! but it is impossible!” he cried.
“How impossible?” said Aramis. “Give me a of this impossibility.”
“‘Tis to set a at at such an hour. Where can he go to, a man so with Paris?”
“He will a place he can.”
“You see, now, one might as well set a man free!”
“I have a carriage, and will take him he wishes.”
“You have an answer for everything. Francois, tell le major to go and open the of M. Seldon, No. 3, Bertaudiere.”
“Seldon!” Aramis, very naturally. “You said Seldon, I think?”
“I said Seldon, of course. ‘Tis the name of the man they set free.”
“Oh! you to say Marchiali?” said Aramis.
“Marchiali? oh! yes, indeed. No, no, Seldon.”
“I think you are making a mistake, Monsieur Baisemeaux.”
“I have read the order.”
“And I also.”
“And I saw ‘Seldon’ in as large as that,” and Baisemeaux up his finger.
“And I read ‘Marchiali’ in as large as this,” said Aramis, also up two fingers.
“To the proof; let us a light on the matter,” said Baisemeaux, he was right. “There is the paper, you have only to read it.”
“I read ‘Marchiali,’” returned Aramis, out the paper. “Look.”
Baisemeaux looked, and his arms suddenly. “Yes, yes,” he said, overwhelmed; “yes, Marchiali. ‘Tis Marchiali! Quite true!”
“Ah!—”
“How? the man of we have talked so much? The man they are every day telling me to take such of?”
“There is ‘Marchiali,’” the Aramis.
“I must own it, monseigneur. But I nothing about it.”
“You your eyes, at any rate.”
“To tell me very there is ‘Marchiali.’”
“And in a good handwriting, too.”
“‘Tis a wonder! I still see this order and the name of Seldon, Irishman. I see it. Ah! I that under this name there was a of ink.”
“No, there is no ink; no, there is no blot.”
“Oh! but there was, though; I know it, I my finger—this very one—in the that was over the blot.”
“In a word, be it how it may, dear M. Baisemeaux,” said Aramis, “and you may have seen, the order is to Marchiali, or no blot.”
“The order is to Marchiali,” Baisemeaux, mechanically, to his courage.
“And you are going to this prisoner. If your you to deliver Seldon also, I to you I will not oppose it the least in the world.” Aramis this with a smile, the of which Baisemeaux’s of mind, and his courage.
“Monseigneur,” he said, “this Marchiali is the very same the other day a of our order came to visit in so and so a manner.”
“I don’t know that, monsieur,” the bishop.
“‘Tis no such long time ago, dear Monsieur d’Herblay.”
“It is true. But with us, monsieur, it is good that the man of to-day should no longer know what the man of yesterday did.”
“In any case,” said Baisemeaux, “the visit of the Jesuit must have to this man.”
Aramis no reply, but and drinking. As for Baisemeaux, no longer anything that was on the table, he again took up the order and it every way. This investigation, under ordinary circumstances, would have the ears of the Aramis with anger; but the of Vannes did not for so little, above all, when he had to himself that to do so was dangerous. “Are you going to Marchiali?” he said. “What mellow, and this is, my dear governor.”
“Monseigneur,” Baisemeaux, “I shall the Marchiali when I have the who the order, and above all, when, by him, I have satisfied myself.”
“The order is sealed, and the is of the contents. What do you want to satisfy about?”
“Be it so, monseigneur; but I shall send to the ministry, and M. de Lyonne will either or the order.”
“What is the good of all that?” asked Aramis, coldly.
“What good?”
“Yes; what is your object, I ask?”
“The object of oneself, monseigneur; being wanting in the respect which a to his officers, the of a service one has of one’s own free will.”
“Very good; you have just spoken so eloquently, that I cannot but you. It is true that a respect to his superiors; he is when he himself, and he should be if he either the or laws of his office.”
Baisemeaux looked at the with astonishment.
“It follows,” Aramis, “that you are going to ask advice, to put your at in the matter?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“And if a officer you orders, you will obey?”
“Never it, monseigneur.”
“You know the king’s well, M. de Baisemeaux?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“Is it not on this order of release?”
“It is true, but it may—”
“Be forged, you mean?”
“That is evident, monseigneur.”
“You are right. And that of M. de Lyonne?”
“I see it plain on the order; but for the same that the king’s may have been forged, so also, and with probability, may M. de Lyonne’s.”
“Your logic has the of a giant, M. de Baisemeaux,” said Aramis; “and your is irresistible. But on what special do you your idea that these are false?”
“On this: the of counter-signatures. Nothing his majesty’s signature; and M. de Lyonne is not there to tell me he has signed.”
“Well, Monsieur de Baisemeaux,” said Aramis, an on the governor, “I so your doubts, and your mode of them up, that I will take a pen, if you will give me one.”
Baisemeaux gave him a pen.
“And a of white paper,” added Aramis.
Baisemeaux him some paper.
“Now, I—I, also—I, here present—incontestably, I—am going to an order to which I am you will give credence, as you are!”
Baisemeaux at this of manner. It to him that the voice of the bishop’s, but just now so and gay, had and sad; that the lights into the of a chapel, the very of into of blood.
Aramis took a pen and wrote. Baisemeaux, in terror, read over his shoulder.
“A. M. D. G.,” the bishop; and he a under these four letters, which ad Dei gloriam, “to the of God;” and thus he continued: “It is our that the order to M. de Baisemeaux de Montlezun, governor, for the king, of the of the Bastile, be by him good and effectual, and be into operation.”
(Signed) D’HERBLAY
“General of the Order, by the of God.”
Baisemeaux was so astonished, that his contracted, his parted, and his fixed. He did not move an inch, a sound. Nothing be in that large but the wing-whisper of a little moth, which was to its death about the candles. Aramis, without to look at the man he had to so a condition, from his pocket a small case of black wax; he sealed the letter, and it with a seal at his breast, his doublet, and when the operation was concluded, presented—still in silence—the to M. de Baisemeaux. The latter, hands in a manner to pity, a and meaningless upon the letter. A last of played over his features, and he fell, as if thunder-struck, on a chair.
“Come, come,” said Aramis, after a long silence, which the of the Bastile had slowly his senses, “do not lead me to believe, dear Baisemeaux, that the presence of the of the order is as terrible as His, and that men die from having Him. Take courage, yourself; give me your hand—obey.”
Baisemeaux, reassured, if not satisfied, obeyed, Aramis’s hand, and rose. “Immediately?” he murmured.
“Oh, there is no pressing haste, my host; take your place again, and do the over this dessert.”
“Monseigneur, I shall such a as this; I who have laughed, who have with you! I who have to you on a of equality!”
“Say nothing about it, old comrade,” the bishop, who how the was and how it would have been to it; “say nothing about it. Let us each live in our own way; to you, my protection and my friendship; to me, your obedience. Having these two requirements, let us live happily.”
Baisemeaux reflected; he perceived, at a glance, the of this of a by means of a order; and, in the the offered him by the official order of the general, did not it of any value.
Aramis this. “My dear Baisemeaux,” said he, “you are a simpleton. Lose this of when I give myself the trouble to think for you.”
And at another he made, Baisemeaux again. “How shall I set about it?” he said.
“What is the for a prisoner?”
“I have the regulations.”
“Well, then, the regulations, my friend.”
“I go with my major to the prisoner’s room, and him, if he is a of importance.”
“But this Marchiali is not an personage,” said Aramis carelessly.
“I don’t know,” answered the governor, as if he would have said, “It is for you to me.”
“Then if you don’t know it, I am right; so act Marchiali as you act one of station.”
“Good; the so provide. They are to the that the turnkey, or one of the officials, shall the the governor, in the office.”
“Well, ‘tis very wise, that; and then?”
“Then we return to the the he at the time of his imprisonment, his and papers, if the minister’s orders have not otherwise dictated.”
“What was the minister’s order as to this Marchiali?”
“Nothing; for the man here without jewels, without papers, and almost without clothes.”
“See how simple, then, all is. Indeed, Baisemeaux, you make a of everything. Remain here, and make them the to the governor’s house.”
Baisemeaux obeyed. He his lieutenant, and gave him an order, which the passed on, without himself about it, to the next it concerned.
Half an hour they a gate in the court; it was the door to the dungeon, which had just up its to the free air. Aramis out all the which the room but one, which he left the door. This the from on any object. It the and of the place, by its uncertainty. Steps near.
“Go and meet your men,” said Aramis to Baisemeaux.
The obeyed. The and disappeared. Baisemeaux re-entered, by a prisoner. Aramis had himself in the shade; he saw without being seen. Baisemeaux, in an of voice, the man with the order which set him at liberty. The listened, without making a single or saying a word.
“You will (‘tis the that it),” added the governor, “never to anything that you have or in the Bastile.”
The a crucifix; he out his hands and with his lips. “And now, monsieur, you are free. Whither do you going?”
The his head, as if looking him for some protection, on which he ought to rely. Then was it that Aramis came out of the shade: “I am here,” he said, “to the service he may to ask.”
The reddened, and, without hesitation, passed his arm through that of Aramis. “God have you in his keeping,” he said, in a voice the of which the as much as the of the him.
Aramis, on hands with Baisemeaux, said to him; “Does my order trouble you? Do you their it here, should they come to search?”
“I to keep it, monseigneur,” said Baisemeaux. “If they it here, it would be a I should be lost, and in that case you would be a powerful and a last for me.”
“Being your accomplice, you mean?” answered Aramis, his shoulders. “Adieu, Baisemeaux,” said he.
The were in waiting, making each the again with their impatience. Baisemeaux the to the of the steps. Aramis his to him, then followed, and without the driver any order, “Go on,” said he. The over the of the courtyard. An officer with a the horses, and gave orders at every post to let them pass. During the time taken in opening all the barriers, Aramis breathed, and you might have his “sealed against his ribs.” The prisoner, in a of the carriage, no more of life than his companion. At length, a more than the others to them that they had the last watercourse. Behind the closed the last gate, that in the Rue St. Antoine. No more either on the right or the left; everywhere, everywhere, and life everywhere. The horses, in check by a hand, as as the middle of the faubourg. There they to trot. Little by little, they were to their work, or they were urged, they in swiftness, and once past Bercy, the to fly, so great was the of the coursers. The thus as as Villeneuve St. George’s, where were waiting. Then four of two the away in the direction of Melun, and up for a moment in the middle of the of Senart. No the order had been the beforehand, for Aramis had no occasion to make a sign.
“What is the matter?” asked the prisoner, as if from a long dream.
“The is, monseigneur,” said Aramis, “that going further, it is necessary your and I should converse.”
“I will an opportunity, monsieur,” answered the prince.
“We not have a better, monseigneur. We are in the middle of a forest, and no one can us.”
“The postilion?”
“The of this is and dumb, monseigneur.”
“I am at your service, M. d’Herblay.”
“Is it your to in the carriage?”
“Yes; we are seated, and I like this carriage, for it has me to liberty.”
“Wait, monseigneur; there is yet a to be taken.”
“What?”
“We are here on the highway; or traveling like ourselves might pass, and us stopping, us in some difficulty. Let us avoid offers of assistance, which would us.”
“Give the orders to the in one of the avenues.”
“‘Tis what I to do, monseigneur.”
Aramis a to the and driver of the carriage, he touched on the arm. The dismounted, took the by the bridle, and them over the and the of a alley, at the of which, on this night, the a than ink. This done, the man on a near his horses, who, on either side, the shoots.
“I am listening,” said the to Aramis; “but what are you doing there?”
“I am myself of my pistols, of which we have no need, monseigneur.”
