"I was thereupon transferred to the château of Chalons-sur-Saône. I remained there about two years, at the end of which time my persecutress made her appearance again. It was still the letters that brought her thither. This time she was accompanied by the torturer, and I was put to the question. This was useless barbarity, as she obtained no information,--indeed, she could obtain none. I knew nothing save that I had delivered the letters to the duke's messenger. "One day at the bottom of my jug of water I found a bag filled with gold; once more my noble master bethought himself of his poor servant. "I bribed a turnkey, or rather the miserable creature pretended to be bribed. At midnight he opened the door of my cell, and I went out. I followed him through several corridors; I could already feel the air that living men breathe, and thought that I was free, when guards rushed out upon us and bound us both. My guide had pretended to yield to my entreaties in order to get possession of the gold he had seen in my hands, and then betrayed me to earn the reward offered to informers. "They brought me to the Châtelet, to this cell. "Here, for the last time, Louise of Savoy appeared; she was accompanied by the executioner. "The prospect of death could have no other effect than the promises, threats, and torture. My hands were bound; a rope was passed through a ring and placed around my neck. I made the same reply as always to her demands, adding that she would fulfil my dearest wish by putting me to death, for I was driven to despair by my life of captivity. "It was that feeling, doubtless, which made her hold her hand. She went out and the executioner followed her. "Since then I have never seen her. What has become of my noble master? What has become of the cruel duchess? I have no idea, for since that time, some fifteen years perhaps, I have not exchanged a single word with a single living being." "They are both dead," said Aubry. "Both dead! the noble-hearted duke is dead! Why, he would still be a young man, not more than fifty-two. How did he die?" "He was killed at the siege of Rome, and probably--" Jacques was about to add, "by one of my friends," but he refrained, thinking that might cause a coolness between the old man and himself. Jacques, as we know, was becoming very discreet. "Probably?" the prisoner repeated. "By a goldsmith named Benvenuto Cellini." "Twenty years ago I would have cursed the murderer: to-day I say from the bottom of my heart, 'May his murderer be blessed!' Did they give my noble lord a burial worthy of the man?" "I think so: they built a tomb for him in the cathedral of Gaeta, and upon the tomb is an epitaph wherein it is said that, beside him who sleeps there, Alexander the Great was a sorry knave, and Cæsar an idle blackguard." "And the other?" "What other?" "The woman who persecuted me?" "Dead also: dead nine years since."