MARIE ANTOINETTE'S
bitterly,” he said. ‘Thinking me one of them— for I wore this—they spoke freely enough,”
Here Christopher took a red cap from his pocket, and shook it viciously, as if he hated the very color.
The governor looked up and waghed again.
“So they thought you one of their order, my poor Christopher, and took you into their confiDence on the strength of that red abomination. Well, when do they intend to tear down the Bastile?”
“Tear down the Bastile! Have we not decided that the walls may defy them?” replied the keeper, uneasily. “If I thought otherwise——”
“Well, what then, my good Christopher?”
“Why, then I should be glad to exchange places with any prisoner in the cells.”
“A hard alternative, Christopher,” said the governor, smiling over his well-filled plate, “and one not likely to happen. But we must be careful. If the rabble hate us, as you say, we must do nothing to arouse them.”
That moment the loud clangor of a bell sounded down the passages of the prison.
“What is that, Christopher?” inquired the governor, laying down his knife and fork with something like consternation.
“Some one claiming admittance, who rings boldly, either an enemy, or an officer under authority of the law, I should say,” answered the keeper.
“Go and see, Christopher.”
The keeper went out, passed from the prison to the drawbridge, and looked across the moat, swollen and green with stagnant water, saw a single, slight figure claiming a passage over both by voice and gesture.
“Why was the bell rung?” asked Christopher of the guard.
‘Because it is some one with an order for the governor. He held up a paper.”
“Is he quite alone?”
“Yes, I saw him dismount from a tired horse, which you may yourself discover standing within the shadow of yonder building.”
“Let down the drawbridge; but see that but one man enters—it may be a ante te from the court.”
Directly the great chains of the drawbridge began to shake and rattle, the mighty hinges turned with ponderous heaviness, and the great mass of wood fell slowly downward, spanning the gulf of dark waters from wall to wall, like the gulf of dark waters from wall to wall, like a causeway leading directly through Hades.
A slight figure left the opposite side of the person was seen in the full glare of the light, moat, and crossed the bridge with a quick, nervous step, which soon brought him in the keeper, who keenly regarded him during his progress.
“A letter for the governor,” said the stranger, promptly taking a folded paper from his girdle.
“Where from?” questioned Christopher.
“Directly from Versailles. Besides this, I am intrusted with a message which can only be given in person; oblige me by saying so much in my behalf.”
Christopher took the letter and held it between his teeth, while the ponderous machinery of the bridge was put in motion again, and the whole fabric loomed up.
The stranger started as he saw the huge fabric uplifted like some massive gate rising between him and the world he had left; but he made no protest, and only grew a little paler than before, as the awful blackness of its shadow fell upon him.
“There is no danger from any one on this side,” muttered the keeper, moving slowly away, leaving the stranger standing by the guard; “but in these times it is hardly safe to admit even a stripling like that after dark.”
He found the governor deep in his meal, which he enjoyed with the zest of a man who has few sources of occupation or amusement, and, therefore, gives free scope to the appetite. He was just filling a glass of wine as Christopher came in, and holding it up, smiled to see its amber hues sparkle in the lamplight. Indeed, he was too pleasantly occupied for any remembrance of the errand on which the keeper had gone.
“Ah! is it you again, my Christopher?” he said, draining the glass with a mellow smack of the lips. “Well, what news? The bell rang, if I remember. What unreasonable person was so bold?”
“It is a messenger from Versailles, your excellency; some one with a letter, and a special message to yourself.”
“From Versailles? Let him in; let him in. It is hot often that Louis the Sixteenth requires my services. That is why the rabble has dared to lift its clamor against the Bastile. If he would but -crowd the old prison from foundation to roof with the disaffected, there would be no more cries of 'Down with the Bastile!' in the streets of Paris. Let the king’s messenger present. himself, he is welcome.”
Christopher went out, and directly returned with the page in close company. When this person was seen in the full glare of the light, the appearance of extreme youth vanished. He
