“There is no such thing as impossibilities where the selfishness or ingratitude of men are concerned,” he said. “The idol of the people to-day is not sure of his position for a week.” “Of the people? Yes. But I claim nothing of them; my strength lies in the king.” The page gave his antagonist—for such these two persons were fast becoming—a sharp glance, but made no answer to his last speech, which had apparently made little impression upon him. “The king, the queen, and, most of all, you and the lady on whose behalf I come, are in danger. A single new cause of discontent against this prison, and the smouldering hate of the people will break forth. Louis foresaw this, but had not force of will enough to prevent it. One word from his wife, and he was ready to brave everything.” “But what has he done?” The page drew close to the table and leaned one hand upon it. “Years ago, the very last of our old king’s reign, a man was brought to the Bastille—his name was Gosner.” “Gosner—why that man is alive yet. Neither dampness or famine seem to have any impression on him. He was brought here under a _lettre-de-cachet_, and was one of Madame Du Berry’s enemies. I remember, she came here to the prison, just after the old king died, and upbraided this man with having killed him by his necromancy. She was very bitter against the prisoner, and seemed afraid that he might be pardoned out. That woman had a hard heart.” “Yes; she had a hard heart,” repeated the page; “but often, ah! so often, she was forced to be cruel in self-defence. It is so now—it is so now!” Once more the page commenced walking up and down the room; he paused suddenly. “This man, Gosner, was, at the request of madame, put into the underground cells,” he said, “where he has been until within the last year. When we took him out for a week or two, and found him almost blind—a poor, enfeebled creature, hardly worthy of the new life we gave him.” “And now?” questioned the page. “Now he is but little better—a gleam or two of light and air does not change a prisoner of many years so much as you might imagine; besides, this man was feeble from the first, but lived on, withering away into the shadow he is; we have put him back again; the sight of his decay was too much.” “Well, this is the man they will parade before the people as a proof of the terrible cruelties practiced here.” The governor half rose from his feet in sudden alarm. “Who will do this?” he exclaimed. “The king; or, rather, his Austrian wife.” “The king!” “Who has pardoned this man, Gosner.” CHAPTER XLI. THE COUNTESS AND HER VICTIM MEET. The ruddy countenance of the governor lost its tone, and a cold whiteness crept over his lips. At last he turned a blanched and scared face upon the page. The great danger of his position had forced itself upon him. “And the king has done this? I cannot believe it.”