ry first use that Marchiali made of his liberty was to
persist--. Can you guess what?"

"How is it likely I should guess?"

"To persist in saying that he was the king of France; to dress himself
up in clothes like those of the king; and then pretend to assume that he
was the king himself."

"Gracious heavens!"

"That is the reason why I have brought him back again, my dear friend.
He is mad, and lets every one see how mad he is."

"What is to be done, then?"

"That is very simple; let no one hold any communication with him. You
understand, that when his peculiar style of madness came to the king's
ears, the king, who had pitied his terrible affliction, and saw how his
kindness of heart had been repaid by such black ingratitude, became
perfectly furious; so that, now--and remember this very distinctly, dear
Monsieur de Baisemeaux, for it concerns you most closely--so that there
is now, I repeat, sentence of death pronounced against all those who may
allow him to communicate with any one else but me, or the king himself.
You understand, Baisemeaux, sentence of death!"

"You need not ask me whether I understand."

"And now, let us go down, and conduct this poor devil back to his
dungeon again, unless you prefer he should come up here."

"What would be the good of that?"

"It would be better, perhaps, to enter his name in the prison book at
once!"

"Of course, certainly; not a doubt of it."

"In that case, have him up."

Baisemeaux ordered the drums to be beaten, and the bell to be rung, as
a warning to every one to retire, in order to avoid meeting a prisoner,
about whom it was desired to observe a certain mystery. Then, when the
passages were free, he went to take the prisoner from the carriage, at
whose breast Porthos, faithful to the directions which had been given
him, still kept his musket leveled. "Ah! is that you, miserable wretch?"
cried the governor, as soon as he perceived the king. "Very good, very
good." And immediately, making the king get out of the carriage, he led
him, still accompanied by Porthos, who had not taken off his mask, and
Aramis, who again resumed his, up the stairs, to the second Bertaudiere,
and opened the door of the room in which Philippe for six long years had
bemoaned his existence. The king entered into the cell without
pronouncing a single word: he was pale and haggard. Baisemeaux shut the
door upon him, turned the key twice in the lock, and then returned to
Aramis. "It