Louise de la Valliere by Alexandre Dumas (best sales books of all time TXT) 📗

not take the trouble to write similar orders except under pressing circumstances. All this was very interesting, and, above all, very puzzling to Baisemeaux; but as, on the other hand, all this was very clear to Aramis, the latter did not attach to the occurrence the same importance as did the worthy governor. Besides, Aramis rarely put himself out of the way for anything, and he had not yet told M. de Baisemeaux for what reason he had now done so. And so at the very climax of Baisemeaux’s dissertation, Aramis suddenly interrupted him.

“Tell me, my dear Baisemeaux,” said he, “have you never had any other diversions at the Bastile than those at which I assisted during the two or three visits I have had the honor to pay you?”

This address was so unexpected that the governor, like a vane which suddenly receives an impulsion opposed to that of the wind, was quite dumbfounded at it. “Diversions!” said he; “but I take them continually, monseigneur.”

“Oh, to be sure! And these diversions?”

“Are of every kind.”

“Visits, no doubt?”

“No, not visits. Visits are not frequent at the Bastile.”

“What, are visits rare, then?”

“Very much so.”

“Even on the part of your society?”

“What do you term my society—the prisoners?”

“Oh, no!—your prisoners, indeed! I know well it is you who visit them, and not they you. By your society, I mean, my dear Baisemeaux, the society of which you are a member.”

Baisemeaux looked fixedly at Aramis, and then, as if the idea which had flashed across his mind were impossible, “Oh,” he said, “I have very little society at present. If I must own it to you, dear M. d’Herblay, the fact is, to stay at the Bastile appears, for the most part, distressing and distasteful to persons of the gay world. As for the ladies, it is never without a certain dread, which costs me infinite trouble to allay, that they succeed in reaching my quarters. And, indeed, how should they avoid trembling a little, poor things, when they see those gloomy dungeons, and reflect that they are inhabited by prisoners who—” And in proportion as the eyes of Baisemeaux concentrated their gaze on the face of Aramis, the worthy governor’s tongue faltered more and more until it ended by stopping altogether.

“No, you don’t understand me, my dear M. Baisemeaux; you don’t understand me. I do not at all mean to speak of society in general, but of a particular society—of the society, in a word—to which you are affiliated.”

Baisemeaux nearly dropped the glass of muscat which he was in the act of raising to his lips. “Affiliated,” cried he, “affiliated!”

“Yes, affiliated, undoubtedly,” repeated Aramis, with the greatest self-possession. “Are you not a member of a secret society, my dear M. Baisemeaux?”

“Secret?”

“Secret or mysterious.”

“Oh, M. d’Herblay!”

“Consider, now, don’t deny it.”

“But believe me.”

“I believe what I know.”

“I swear to you.”

“Listen to me, my dear M. Baisemeaux; I say yes, you say no; one of us two necessarily says what is true, and the other, it inevitably follows, what is false.”

“Well, and then?”

“Well, we shall come to an understanding presently.”

“Let us see,” said Baisemeaux; “let us see.”

“Now drink your glass of muscat, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux,” said Aramis. “What the devil! you look quite scared.”

“No, no; not the least in the world; oh, no.”

“Drink then.” Baisemeaux drank, but he swallowed the wrong way.

“Well,” resumed Aramis, “if, I say, you are not a member of a secret or mysterious society, which you like to call it—the epithet is of no consequence—if, I say, you are not a member of a society similar to that I wish to designate, well, then, you will not understand a word of what I am going to say. That is all.”

“Oh! be sure beforehand that I shall not understand anything.”

“Well, well!”

“Try, now; let us see!”

“That is what I am going to do.”

“If, on the contrary, you are one of the members of this society, you will immediately answer me—yes or no.”

“Begin your questions,” continued Baisemeaux, trembling.

“You will agree, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux,” continued Aramis, with the same impassibility, “that it is evident a man cannot be a member of a society, it is evident that he cannot enjoy the advantages it offers to the affiliated, without being himself bound to certain little services.”

“In short,” stammered Baisemeaux, “that would be intelligible, if—”

“Well,” resumed Aramis, “there is in the society of which I speak, and of which, as it seems you are not a member—”

“Allow me,” said Baisemeaux. “I should not like to say absolutely.”

“There is an engagement entered into by all the governors and captains of fortresses affiliated to the order.” Baisemeaux grew pale.

“Now the engagement,” continued Aramis firmly, “is of this nature.”

Baisemeaux rose, manifesting unspeakable emotion: “Go on, dear M. d’Herblay: go on,” said he.

Aramis then spoke, or rather recited the following paragraph, in the same tone as if he had been reading it from a book: “The aforesaid captain or governor of a fortress shall allow to enter, when need shall arise, and on demand of the prisoner, a confessor affiliated to the order.” He stopped. Baisemeaux was quite distressing to look at, being so wretchedly pale and trembling. “Is not that the text of the agreement?” quietly asked Aramis.

“Monseigneur!” began Baisemeaux.

“Ah! well, you begin to understand, I think.”

“Monseigneur,” cried Baisemeaux, “do not trifle so with my unhappy mind! I find myself as nothing in your hands, if you have the malignant desire to draw from me the little secrets of my administration.”

“Oh! by no means; pray undeceive yourself, dear M. Baisemeaux; it is not the little secrets of your administration, but those of your conscience that I aim at.”

“Well, then, my conscience be it, dear M. d’Herblay. But have some consideration for the situation I am in, which is no ordinary one.”

“It is no ordinary one, my dear monsieur,” continued the inflexible Aramis, “if you