he Bastille?"

"On the contrary--to let somebody out."

"And who?"

"A poor devil--a youth, a lad who has been bastilled these ten years,
for two Latin verses he made against the Jesuits."

"'Two Latin verses!' and, for 'two Latin verses,' the miserable being
has been in prison for ten years!"

"'Yes!"

"And has committed no other crime?"

"Beyond this he is as innocent as you or I."

"On your word?"

"On my honor!"

"And his name is--?"

"Seldon."

"Yes.--But it is too bad. You knew this, and you never told me!"

"'Twas only yesterday his mother applied to me, monseigneur."

"And the woman is poor."

"In the deepest misery."

"Oh, Heaven!" said Fouquet, "you sometimes bear with such injustice on
earth, that I understand why there are wretches who doubt in your
existence. Stay, M. d'Herblay." And Fouquet, taking a pen, wrote a few
rapid lines to his colleague Lyonne. Aramis took the letter and made
ready to go.

"Wait," said Fouquet. He opened his drawer, and took out ten government
notes which were there, each for a thousand francs. "Stay," he said;
"set the son at liberty, and give this to the mother; but, above all,
tell her not--."

"What, monseigneur?"

"That she is ten thousand livres richer than I. She would say, I am but
a poor surintendant! Go! and I hope that God will bless those who are
mindful of his poor!"

"So also do I hope," replied Aramis, kissing Fouquet's hand.

And he went out quickly, carrying off the letter for Lyonne, and the
notes for Seldon's mother, and taking up Moliere, who was beginning to
lose patience.

CHAPTER LXXXI.

ANOTHER SUPPER AT THE BASTILLE.

Seven o'clock sounded from the great clock of the Bastille, that famous
clock, which like all the accessories of the state prison, the very use
of which is a torture, recalled to the prisoners' minds the destination
of every hour of their punishment. The timepiece of the Bastille,
adorned with figures, like most of the clocks of the period, represented
St. Peter in bonds. It was the supper hour of the unfortunate captives.
The doors, grating on their enormous hinges, opened for the passage of
the baskets and trays of provisions, the delicacy of which, as M. de
Baisemeaux has himself taught us, was regulated by the condition in life
of the prisoner. We understand on this head the theories of M. de
Baisemeaux, sovereign dispenser of gastronomic delicacies, head cook of
the royal fortress, whose trays,