Madame Gosner was deadly pale. She was looking upon the tomb of her living husband. Would it ever be opened? Was there force enough in that little slip of paper to loosen the hinges of the massive draw-bridge, and unlock the iron-clad door that frowned behind it? Time wore on. They saw the golden sunshine creep slowly down the towers, bathing the top, but leaving the base in eternal shadows. Then there was a movement at the draw-bridge, the chains began to rattle, the timbers groaned, swayed, and settled heavily downward. Guards were being placed for the day. Monsieur Jacques advanced to the guard house and presented his order. The guards passed him and his companions without a word—the king’s signature was enough. In the guard-room they found Christopher. A grim smile quivered across his mouth as he read the paper. Madame Gosner shuddered. She could not mistake that smile for one of pleasure that a prisoner was to be released. Still nothing could be more urbane than this man. “He would call the governor; when an order of release came directly from his majesty, it was usually honored by that high functionary in his own person. Would monsieur and the ladies walk this way?” There was something forced and hollow in all this politeness, that made the heart in that poor woman’s bosom sink like lead as she followed Christopher into the presence of his master. Marguerite, who remembered the good Doudel, remained outside with Jacques, afraid that the governor would recognise her as the flower girl who had sought his presence once before. The governor, like his subordinate, was eloquent in expressions of pleasure that the good king had at last extended mercy to a prisoner whose fate had so much in it to deplore. “But he had a doubt, a fear, that the prisoner might be unable to leave the Bastille for a day or two. There had been a report that he was not quite well; indeed, that was not wonderful. Dr. Gosner was almost the oldest prisoner now in the Bastille, that is, counting from the date of his entrance into the fortress. But the goodness of the king might give him new life. Madame should judge for herself; they had no concealments in that place. When the relatives of a prisoner come with an order from the king, all doors were flung open. Would madame please to descend?” Christopher appeared with the keys, and taking upon himself the air of a commander, led the way into the heart of the prison. There was something unnatural in this man’s demeanor, an air of bravado, which they all noticed without comprehending. “I think,” he said, loitering by the side of Jacques, “that I have had the pleasure of meeting monsieur before, but where, I cannot remember.”