"_Non, non_, be calm. You will go forth. None but princes and marshals stay long here. And there has been a clearing from above; many have departed; there is room for you now. Soon I shall remove monsieur." "Who are gone? Any who have been here long?" "No. Many new ones, and one who was here eight years--by a mistake. He was a Hollander, a doctor, and--_mort de ma vie!_--they thought he was Schwab, the Alsatian poisoner. He now is gone, and the pig, De Launey, entertained him to breakfast ere he went, though he would allow him only _la petite bouteille_ while he remained. And the captain of the road, the sweet singer of songs, he is gone too, only 'tis to the Place de Grève, for a certain purpose," and he motioned to his throat as he spoke and winked at the other, who shuddered. Vile and dissolute as the man's roarings and carousals had been, they had served to cheer him up in his loneliness and desolation, and he regretted his fate. Another week passed, and Bertie, who had now contracted a terrible cold and cough that plagued him at nights, began to believe that he would never leave the chapel alive, when Bluet, coming with his breakfast one morning, told him that he was to be moved. "Thank God!" exclaimed the poor prisoner, "thank God! it cannot be worse than this." "No," said the turnkey, "because where you are going to you will find _la société_. Though, _par hazard_, I know not if it will enchant you much. There is the oldest pensioner of Madame La Bastille, the Marquis de Chevagny--a sad man, taking little enjoyment of his life--though he should be used to it by now! and another, a fool, a madman, they say a murderer. But I know not. However, he is a compatriot of Monsieur le Capitaine, an Englishman." "What is his name?" asked Bertie. "Monsieur, to many there are no names in the Bastille. Only numbers, with few exceptions, such as that of De Chevagny, of whom we are justly proud. He is a credit to us and to our care. Still, I doubt not you will soon find out the idiot's name. He has his sane moments, though they are few. But his principal remark is that he trusts the wheel is not too painful. 'Tis to that he is bound to go." "An idiot! And sent to the wheel, even though a murderer! Will they do that?" "Faith, they will. For, _tenez_, monsieur"--and he laid a dirty finger along his nose and looked slyly at Bertie--"he is a prisoner of the Church, of the priests. He has outraged them. Do you think he will escape their claws if he were forty thousand times as mad?" "When shall I join this company?" asked Bertie. "I shall be glad to go. At least, the Marquis de Chevagny should be an interesting companion." "At once. I will go fetch Pierre to assist in carrying up your baggage and furniture, and then the King's Lieutenant will escort you to the _calotte_. And, cheer up, 'tis high, but pleasant; you can see _tout Paris_, and the top windows of the Rue St. Antoine. _Ma foi!_ a gay view, a fine retreat."