"I have had many strange companions in this cell in my time," said Chevagny, in his quiet, sad tones, "but never one like this. It is an insult to put such as he is in with us." "Will they execute him as he fears?" asked Bertie. "I had always thought that the Bastille detained its prisoners or sent them forth free. I knew not that condemned men went from it to meet their death." "Many have so gone forth," the other replied, "though generally only traitors. Yet this man stands in evil case, too; he has murdered, I judge from what he has now said, a priest--a Jesuit; if so, he must die, for the Jesuits are powerful in the Bastille--Gerville, the chaplain, is himself one. And, if he is a murderer, he should die." "In truth he should," replied Bertie, "nor would I lift a finger to save him. For he is a murderer in more senses than one: he has slain two lives already--my own and another. I had sworn to myself to kill him if we ever met; we have done so, and lo! I cannot slay him. No matter, let the Place de Grève do its work!" That he should feel no pity for the wretch lying there on his bed was not strange; he had wrought far too much bitter woe to Elphinston for such a sentiment to rise into his heart. Indeed, instead of pity, there had come into his mind now a great desire to discover, if possible, who the victim could be whom Fordingbridge had slain. He had not actually said it was a priest, though the Marquis de Chevagny had suggested that it was one, and as Bertie pondered on all this a terrible idea flashed into his mind--was the victim Archibald Sholto? He knew that Fordingbridge hated him, he knew that Archibald possessed many secrets of his; could it be that he had come upon him unawares and slain him? If so, if such was the case, then it was not strange that the Jesuits had determined upon his execution. And as he reflected on all this he determined that, if Fordingbridge were not taken away to his doom at once, he would find out who it was that had fallen victim to his treachery. Bluet came in as he made these resolutions, and began busying himself with preparing their midday meal, laying three covers at the table in the middle of the room. As, usual the fellow was in his accustomed semi-drunken condition, which Bertie had long since discovered was owing to his habit of abstracting some or all of the prisoners' wine ere he brought it to them--a pleasing custom none complained of, since he was, otherwise, an obliging rascal; and, as usual, he began to chatter in his familiar manner to those in the _calotte_. "_Ma foi!_" he exclaimed, "if things go on as they now are, we shall soon have no guests at all. The examiners come again to-night; we are informed they will dine with _le vieux singe_ De Launey; there will be some clearances to-morrow morning."