d with the order which set him at
liberty. The prisoner listened, without making a single gesture or
saying a word.

"You will swear ('tis the regulation that requires it)," added the
governor, "never to reveal anything that you have seen or heard in the
Bastille."

The prisoner perceived a crucifix; he stretched out his hands, and swore
with his lips. "And now, monsieur, you are free, whither do you intend
going?"

The prisoner turned his head, as if looking behind 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 render the gentleman whatever
service he may please to ask."

The prisoner slightly reddened, and without hesitation passed his arm
through that of Aramis. "God have you in his holy keeping," he said, in
a voice the firmness of which made the governor tremble as much as the
form of the blessing astonished him.

Aramis on shaking hands with Baisemeaux, said to him: "Does my order
trouble you? Do you fear their finding it here, should they come to
search?"

"I desire to keep it, monseigneur," said Baisemeaux. "If they found it
here, it would be a certain indication I should be lost, and in that
case you would be a powerful and a last auxiliary for me."

"Being your accomplice, you mean?" answered Aramis, shrugging his
shoulders, "Adieu, Baisemeaux," said he.

The horses were in waiting, making the carriage shake again with their
impatience. Baisemeaux accompanied the bishop to the bottom of the
steps. Aramis caused his companion to mount before him, then followed,
and without giving the driver any further order, "Go on," said he. The
carriage rattled over the pavement of the courtyard. An officer with a
torch went before the horses, and gave orders at every post to let them
pass. During the time taken in opening all the barriers, Aramis barely
breathed, and you might have heard his "sealed heart knock against his
ribs." The prisoner, buried in a corner of the carriage, made no more
sign of life than his companion. At length, a jolt more severe than the
others announced to them that they had cleared the last watercourse.
Behind the carriage closed the last gate, that in the Rue St. Antoine.
No more walls either on the right or left; heaven everywhere, liberty
everywhere, and life everywhere. The horses, kept in check by a vigorous
hand, went quietly as far as the middle of the faubourg. There they
began to trot. Little by littl