After that I lay down again on the mattress till about nine o'clock, as near as I could judge, when there was a noise outside as of bolts being withdrawn, and the turnkey entered the room with my breakfast. He was a short, sturdy man, somewhat after the build of Pierre, but with a more intelligent face. "Monsieur has met with an accident?" he said, gazing with a grin at the ruined table. "I knocked the wretched thing over." "Ah, it was not meant for monsieur's weight," he laughed, and putting the breakfast on the ground, contrived to prop the table up. "There," he exclaimed triumphantly, "now it will serve, but I would advise monsieur not to place it in a draught, it may catch cold." Guessing that he understood what had happened, I said, "I wished to get a view of the scenery; there is little to look at inside. The Bastille, or at least the prisoner's part of it, is not pretty." "It is strong, monsieur, and one cannot have everything. Has monsieur learned that the prince was not hurt." "No," I cried briskly, "tell me all about it." "There is not much to tell beyond the fact that monsieur missed his aim." "What! Do you really believe it was I who shot at Conde?" "Monsieur is certainly very young for such a deed," he replied, shaking his head solemnly, and with this evasive answer he took his departure, bolting and barring the door behind him. In the evening he returned, but this time I had no word with him, as he was accompanied by the officer of the rounds and several soldiers. The officer gave me a casual glance, searched the cell carefully--though what he expected to find I cannot imagine--shrugged his shoulders, ordered the turnkey to fasten the door, and presently I heard the tramp of their feet along the corridor. Several weary days dragged by in this manner. The turnkey regularly brought my meals, and sometimes in the morning stayed for a few minutes' gossip, but with this exception I was left alone. One morning, contrary to the usual custom, he was attended by four soldiers, who stood at attention while I ate my breakfast. As soon as the meal was finished, the gaoler directed me to follow him, and, escorted by the soldiers, I descended the massive staircase shut in on each storey by ponderous double doors, crossed the wide court, ascended another staircase, and so into a large room known as the Council Chamber. Here four men sat at a table, and one--an ugly, weazened fellow dressed as a councillor--ordered me to stand before them. Then the soldiers retired well out of earshot, and the examination began. First of all the councillor asked a number of questions concerning my age, name, family, and estate, one of his colleagues writing down the answers as I gave them. Then followed a long harangue on the infamy of my crime, after which the speaker implored me to make a full confession, and to throw myself on Conde's mercy.