aisemeaux was no longer the same man. Up to that period, the place
which Aramis had held in the worthy governor's estimation was that of a
prelate whom he respected and a friend to whom he owed a debt of
gratitude; but now he felt himself an inferior, and that Aramis was his
master. He himself lighted a lantern, summoned a turnkey, and said,
returning to Aramis, "I am at your orders, monseigneur." Aramis merely
nodded his head, as much as to say, "Very good;" and signed to him with
his hand to lead the way. Baisemeaux advanced, and Aramis followed him.
It was a beautiful starry night; the steps of the three men resounded on
the flags of the terraces, and the clinking of the keys hanging from the
jailer's girdle made itself heard up to the stories of the towers, as if
to remind the prisoners that liberty was out of their reach. It might
have been said that the alteration effected in Baisemeaux had extended
itself even to the prisoners. The turnkey, the same who on Aramis' first
arrival had shown himself so inquisitive and curious, had now become not
only silent, but even impassible. He held his head down, and seemed
afraid to keep his ears open. In this wise they reached the basement of
the Bertaudiere, the two first stories of which were mounted silently
and somewhat slowly; for Baisemeaux, though far from disobeying, was far
from exhibiting any eagerness to obey. On arriving at the door,
Baisemeaux showed a disposition to enter the prisoner's chamber; but
Aramis, stopping him on the threshold, said, "The rules do not allow the
governor to hear the prisoner's confession."

Baisemeaux bowed, and made way for Aramis, who took the lantern and
entered; and then signed to them to close the door behind him. For an
instant he remained standing, listening whether Baisemeaux and the
turnkey had retired; but as soon as he was assured by the sound of their
dying footsteps that they had left the tower, he put the lantern on the
table and gazed around. On a bed of green serge, similar in all respects
to the other beds in the Bastille, save that it was newer, and under
curtains half-drawn, reposed a young man, to whom we have already once
before introduced Aramis. According to custom, the prisoner was without
a light. At the hour of curfew, he was bound to extinguish his lamp, and
we perceive how much he was favored, in being allowed to keep it burning
even till then. Near the bed a large leathern armchair, with twisted
legs, sustaine