"A noise of bolts and creaking hinges drew the prisoner from this sad occupation, and he saw the man enter before whom he had been taken the day before. This man, about thirty years of age, with an agreeable appearance and polite bearing, was the governor, M. De Launay, father of that De Launay who died at his post in '89.... "'M. de Chanlay,' said the governor, bowing, 'I come to know if you have passed a good night, and are satisfied with the fare of the house and the conduct of the employés'--thus M. De Launay, in his politeness, called the turnkeys and jailors. "'Yes, monsieur; and these attentions paid to a prisoner have surprised me, I own.' "'The bed is hard and old, but yet it is one of the best; luxury being forbidden by our rules. Your room, monsieur, is the best in the Bastille; it has been occupied by the Duc d'Angoulême, by the Marquis de Bassompierre, and by the Marshals de Luxembourg and Biron; it is here that I lodge the princes when his Majesty does me the honour to send them to me.' "'It is an excellent lodging,' said Gaston, smiling, 'though ill furnished; can I have some books, some paper, and pens?' "'Books, monsieur, are strictly forbidden; but if you very much wish to read, as many things are allowed to a prisoner who is _ennuyé_, come and see me, then you can put in your pocket one of those volumes which my wife or I leave about; you will hide it from all eyes; on a second visit you will take the second volume, and to this abstraction we will close our eyes.' "'And paper, pens, ink?' said Gaston. 'I wish most particularly to write.' "'No one writes here, monsieur; or, at least, only to the king, the regent, the minister, or to me; but they draw, and I can let you have drawing-paper and pencils.'" All of the above is the authenticated fact of history, as written records prove, but it is much better told by Dumas, the novelist, than by most historians. Still other evidence of the good things set before the guests at the "Hôtel de la Bastille" is shown by the following. If Dumas drew the facts from historical records, all well and good; if they were menus composed by himself,--though unconventional ones, as all _bon vivants_ will know,--why, still all is well. "'A fifteen-franc boarder does not suffer, my lord,' said De Baisemeaux.--'He suffers imprisonment, at all events.'--'No doubt, but his suffering is sweetened for him. You must admit this young fellow was not born to eat such things as he now has before him. A pasty; crayfish from the river Marne--almost as big as lobsters; and a bottle of Volnay.'" The potency of the Bastille as a preventative, or, rather, a fit punishment for crime, has been nowhere more effectually set forth than by the letter which Cagliostro wrote from London (in the "Queen's Necklace").