“Well, what do they expect to accomplish by grumbling, the varlets? I wish we had them here, Christopher; a week or two of such lodgings and fare as we could give them, would bring down their courage. We have that whole lower range of cells unoccupied now, for our Louis is chicken-hearted about sending his subjects here, merely to oblige his friends; and he has no favorites, Marie Antoinette looks well to that.” “Yes; and she it is who prevents the prison being full, as it was in the good old time, when we registered a _lettre-de-cachet_ every day. It is this clemency that emboldens the people, and sets them clamoring for the thing they call ‘liberty!’ Liberty, indeed, we would give them enough to quarrel about if we had them all here but for a single month.” “Ah!” said the governor, who seemed on excellent terms with his man. “But how are we to get them here, when we never see the king’s signature, except it be to empty our cells of their prisoners? He seems to forgive all men before they are sentenced, especially his own enemies. I tell you, Christopher, this king, in his leniency, has brought this fortress of the Bastille down to the level of a common jail; and his conduct fills me with such disgust, that I am at times half resolved to throw up my commission.” The keeper looked through one of the narrow windows, and took a survey of the ponderous walls; then, turning with a grim smile, he said, “If the walls were less thick, a resignation might be prudent just now; but I think they will defy all the clubs in Paris.” “Or in all France,” answered the governor, laughing. “My draw-bridge once up, and no monarch in Europe sits as firmly on his throne as I do. Would to heaven his majesty was half as safe in Versailles!” “Nay, I think the people hate the man they call their tyrant of the Bastille worse than they do the monarch at Versailles,” said the keeper, a little maliciously—“for cruel men are very seldom kind to each other.” “Let them hate,” laughed the governor. “It will be a long time before their malice can reach him.” “Yes, as I said, the walls are thick.” “And here comes my supper, Christopher, which your news from the city shall not spoil,” cried the governor, interrupting his subordinate, as a door was opened, and a daintily-arranged table revealed in the next room. “Step in, though, and let me hear all the news you have gathered.” The man entered the supper-room, and stood leaning against the door-frame, while his superior placed himself at the table. “It is the Bastille against which the people hurl hatred, and launch their curses most bitterly,” he said. “Thinking me one of them—for I wore this—they spoke freely enough.” Here Christopher took a red cap from his pocket, and shook it viciously, as if he hated the very color. The governor looked up and laughed again.