"Philip Grissolles!" said the Governor; "very well, that will do. It was your surname that I wished to know, for it is not put down in the order for your detention, and it must be inserted in the books. And now, Monsieur Philip Grissolles, you may take your daughter to your cell; but remember that you have to wait upon the Count de Blenau in half an hour, by which time I shall have returned. You can leave your daughter in your cell till you have done attending the Count, if you like." He then proceeded to the gate, and beckoning to the Porter, he whispered to him, "Do not let her go out till I come back. It is seldom that we have any thing like that in the Bastille! Doubtless, that Woodman would be glad to have her with him; if so, we will find her a cell." Philip turned his ear to catch what the Governor was saying, but not being able to hear it distinctly, he addressed himself to Pauline loud enough to reach every one round. "Come," said he, "_ma fille_, you are frightened at all these towers and walls and places; but it is not so unpleasant after one is in it either. Take my arm, and I'll show you the way." Pauline was glad to accept of his offer, for her steps faltered so much that she could hardly have proceeded without assistance; and thus, leaning on the Woodman, she was slowly conducted through a great many narrow passages, to the small vaulted chamber in which he was lodged. As soon as they had entered, the Woodman shut the door, and placing for Pauline's use the only chair that the room contained, he began to pour forth a thousand excuses for the liberty he had taken with her cheek. "I hope you will consider, Mademoiselle, that there was no other way for me to act, in order to bring us out of the bad job we had fallen into. The Porter of the prison told me this morning that my daughter was coming to see me, and knowing very well I had no daughter, I guessed that it was some one on the Count de Blenau's account; but little did I think that it was you, Mademoiselle--you that I saw in the wood of Mantes on the day he was wounded." Pauline was still too much agitated with all that had passed to make any reply, and sitting with her hands pressed over her eyes, her thoughts were all confusion, though one terrible remembrance still predominated, that she was there--in the very heart of the Bastille--far from all those on whom she was accustomed to rely--habited in a disguise foreign to her rank--acting an assumed character, and engaged in an enterprise of life and death. All this was present to her, not so much as a thought, but as a feeling; and for a moment or two it deprived her not only of utterance, but of reflection. As her mind grew more calm, however, the great object for which she came began again to recover the ascendency; and she gradually regained sufficient command over her ideas to comprehend the nature of the excuses which Philip was still offering for his presumption, as he termed it.