Seldom had an order like that passed from the governor of the Bastille; but Marguerite had brought him fresh flowers, of which he was passionately fond; and Doudel, one of the oldest of his guards, had been faithful to his trust so many years, that it seemed impossible that he, or this beautiful young creature who called herself his daughter, could be in any way dangerous. A guard answered this order, and conducted Marguerite down the large avenue, which led from the Cour de Gouvernment, to the deep stagnant ditch of the Bastille, which coiled itself around that gloomy group of towers like some hideous serpent, green and slimy with incessant slow creeping. A huge draw-bridge, with great rusty chains dangling from it, and rust-eaten hinges, which shrieked and groaned like living things in torment, began to move heavily, and at last fell with all its ponderous weight across the ditch, over which the girl, now shivering and white as a ghost, walked. When she had crossed the bridge, which rose groaning behind her, it was to pass through a guard house, full of wondering sentinels. Then a strong barrier of crossed timbers, sheeted with iron, loomed before her; and, passing that, she stood in the interior court, bound by nine lofty towers linked together with massive stone walls, adown which the sunshine never came. These towers, black, weather-stained, and hideous in grim antiquity, were pierced here and there with narrow slits widening inwards, and crossed with rust-corroded iron bars. In the dread solitude of this place, the girl was left alone, while her guide went in search of Doudel. The damp dreariness of the court chilled her through and through. In the dull gray light, her flowers looked like the ghost of blossoms long since dead. All at once, far above her, she heard a hoarse clangor, as of bells clearing the rust from their throats. She looked up, and there, on the grim face of the nearest tower, two iron figures, chained to the dial of a huge clock, clanked forth the hour. The very soul in that poor girl’s body, recoiled from this weird sound. She would gladly have fled from the spot, but her limbs shook and refused to move. At last some one approached, and a voice close behind her said, “Little one, be still, be cautious, and you shall see him now.” The blood stirred once more in those young veins. A glow of life rushed through the frame that a moment before had seemed chilled to death. “Come, tread softly, and keep close. It is my turn to visit the lower vaults, and for this one minute we are alone. Keep close to the wall, then no one can see us from the ramparts. Now be swift and still.”