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The governor then made a sign to the messenger, and when he had quitted the room said, still trembling:

"I think that there is in the article, 'on the prisoner's demand.'"

"Yes, it is so," answered Aramis. "But see what it is they want with you now."

At that moment a sergeant put his head in at the door. "What do you want now?" cried Baisemeaux. "Can you not leave me in peace for ten minutes?"

"Monsieur," said the sergeant, "the sick man. No. 12, has commissioned the turnkey to request you to send him a confessor."

Baisemeaux very nearly sunk on the floor; but Aramis disdained to reassure him, just as he had disdained to terrify him.

"What must I answer?" inquired Baisemeaux.

"Just what you please," replied Aramis, compressing his lips; "that is your business. I am not the governor of the Bastile."

"Tell the prisoner," cried Baisemeaux quickly, "tell the prisoner that his request is granted."

The sergeant left the room.

"Oh! monseigneur, monseigneur," murmured Baisemeaux, "how could I have suspected—how could I have foreseen this!"

"Who requested you to suspect, and who besought you to foresee?" contemptuously answered Aramis. "The order suspects; the order knows; the order foresees — is not that enough?"

"What do you command?" added Baisemeaux.

"I? — nothing at all. I am nothing but a poor priest, a simple confessor. Have I your orders to go and see this sufferer?"

"Oh, monseigneur, I do not order; I pray you to go."

"'Tis well; then conduct me to him."