“Look here,” said he, “Martinier, January, 1659; Martinier, June, 1660; Martinier, March, 1661. Mazarinades, etc.; you understand it was only a pretext; people were not sent to the Bastile for jokes against M. Mazarin; the fellow denounced himself in order to get imprisoned here.” “And what was his object?” “None other than to return to my kitchen at three francs a day.” “Three francs--poor devil!” “The poet, my lord, belongs to the lowest scale, the same style of board as the small tradesman and bailiff’s clerk; but I repeat, it is to those people that I give these little surprises.” Aramis mechanically turned over the leaves of the register, continuing to read the names, but without appearing to take any interest in the names he read. “In 1661, you perceive,” said Baisemeaux, “eighty entries; and in 1659, eighty also.” “Ah!” said Aramis. “Seldon; I seem to know that name. Was it not you who spoke to me about a certain young man?” “Yes, a poor devil of a student, who made--What do you call that where two Latin verses rhyme together?” “A distich.” “Yes; that is it.” “Poor fellow; for a distich.” “Do you know that he made this distich against the Jesuits?” “That makes no difference; the punishment seems very severe. Do not pity him; last year you seemed to interest yourself in him.” “Yes, I did so.” “Well, as your interest is all-powerful here, my lord, I have treated him since that time as a prisoner at fifteen francs.” “The same as this one, then,” said Aramis, who had continued turning over the leaves, and who had stopped at one of the names which followed Martinier. “Yes, the same as that one.” “Is that Marchiali an Italian?” said Aramis, pointing with his finger to the name which had attracted his attention. “Hush!” said Baisemeaux. “Why hush?” said Aramis, involuntarily clenching his white hand. “I thought I had already spoken to you about that Marchiali.” “No, it is the first time I ever heard his name pronounced.” “That may be, but perhaps I have spoken to you about him without naming him.” “Is he an old offender?” asked Aramis, attempting to smile. “On the contrary, he is quite young.” “Is his crime, then, very heinous?” “Unpardonable.” “Has he assassinated any one?” “Bah!” “An incendiary, then?” “Bah!” “Has he slandered any one?” “No, no! It is he who--” and Baisemeaux approached Aramis’s ear, making a sort of ear-trumpet of his hands, and whispered: “It is he who presumes to resemble the--” “Yes, yes,” said Aramis; “I now remember you already spoke about it last year to me; but the crime appeared to me so slight.” “Slight, do you say?” “Or rather, so involuntary.” “My lord, it is not involuntarily that such a resemblance is detected.” “Well, the fact is, I had forgotten it. But, my dear host,” said Aramis, closing the register, “if I am not mistaken, we are summoned.”