“So they thought you one of their order, my poor Christopher, and took you into their confidence on the strength of that red abomination. Well, when do they intend to tear down the Bastille?” “Tear down the Bastille! Have we not decided that the walls may defy them?” replied the keeper, uneasily. “If I thought otherwise——” “Well, what then, my good Christopher?” “Why, then I should be glad to exchange places with any prisoner in the cells.” “A hard alternative, Christopher,” said the governor, smiling over his well-filled plate, “and one not likely to happen. But we must be careful. If the rabble hate us, as you say, we must do nothing to arouse them.” That moment the loud clangor of a bell sounded down the passages of the building. “What is that, Christopher?” inquired the governor, laying down his knife and fork with something like consternation. “Some one claiming admittance, who rings boldly, either an enemy, or an officer under authority of the law, I should say,” answered the keeper. “Go and see, Christopher.” The keeper went out, passed from the prison to the draw-bridge, and looked across. Beyond the huge timbers and drooping chains, he saw a single, slight figure claiming a passage over, both by voice and gesture. “Why was the bell rung?” asked Christopher of the guard. “Because it is some one with an order for the governor. He held up a paper.” “Is he quite alone?” “Yes, I saw him dismount from a tired horse, which you may yourself discover standing within the shadow of yonder building.” “Let down the draw-bridge; but see that but one man enters—it may be a messenger from the court.” Directly the great chains of the draw-bridge began to shake and rattle, the mighty hinges turned with ponderous heaviness, and the great mass of wood fell slowly downward. A slight figure crossed the bridge with a quick, nervous step, which soon brought him to the keeper, who keenly regarded him during his progress. “A letter for the governor,” said the stranger, promptly taking a folded paper from his girdle. “Where from?” questioned Christopher. “Directly from Versailles. Besides this, I am entrusted with a message which can only be given in person; oblige me by saying so much in my behalf.” Christopher took the letter and held it between his teeth, while the ponderous machinery of the bridge was put in motion again, and the whole fabric loomed up. The stranger started as he saw the huge timbers uplifted like some massive gate rising between him and the world he had left; but he made no protest, and only grew a little paler than before, as the awful blackness of its shadow fell upon him. “There is no danger from any one on this side,” muttered the keeper, moving slowly away, leaving the stranger standing by the guard; “but in these times it is hardly safe to admit even a stripling like that after dark.” CHAPTER XL. THE GOVERNOR AND THE PAGE.