Now, my dear fellow, here is the prison, which ought to give you some idea of human vicissitudes. Gil Blas didn’t change his condition more often than this monument its purposes. Before Cæsar it was a Gaelic temple; Cæsar converted it into a Roman fortress; an unknown architect transformed it into a military work during the Middle Ages; the Knights of Baye, following Cæsar’s example, re-made it into a fortress; the princes of Savoy used it for a residence; the aunt of Charles V. lived here when she came to visit her church at Brou, which she never had the satisfaction of seeing finished. Finally, after the treaty of Lyons, when Bresse was returned to France, it was utilized both as a prison and a court-house. Wait for me a moment, my lord, if you dislike the squeaking of hinges and the grating of bolts. I have a visit to pay to a certain cell.” “The grating of bolts and the squeaking of hinges is not a very enlivening sound, but no matter. Since you were kind enough to undertake my education, show me your dungeon.” “Very well, then. Come in quickly. I see a crowd of persons who look as if they want to speak to me.” In fact, little by little, a sort of rumor seemed to spread throughout the town. People emerged from the houses, forming groups in the streets, and they all watched Roland with curiosity. He rang the bell of the gate, situated then where it is now, but opening into the prison yard. A jailer opened it for them. “Ah, ah! so you are still here, Father Courtois?” asked the young man. Then, turning to Sir John, he added: “A fine name for a jailer, isn’t it, my lord?” The jailer looked at the young man in amazement. “How is it,” he asked through the grating, “that you know my name, when I don’t know yours?” “Good! I not only know your name, but also your opinions. You are an old royalist, Père Courtois.” “Monsieur,” said the jailer, terrified, “don’t make bad jokes if you please, and say what you want.” “Well, my good Father Courtois, I would like to visit the cell where they put my mother and sister, Madame and Mademoiselle Montrevel.” “Ah!” exclaimed the gatekeeper, “so it’s you, M. Louis? You may well say that I know you. What a fine, handsome young man you’ve grown to be!” “Do you think so, Father Courtois? Well, I can return the compliment. Your daughter Charlotte is, on my word, a beautiful girl. Charlotte is my sister’s maid, Sir John.” “And she is very happy over it. She is better off there than here, M. Roland. Is it true that you are General Bonaparte’s aide-de-camp?” “Alas! I have that honor, Courtois. You would prefer me to be Comte d’Artois’s aide-de-camp, or that of M. le Duc of Angoulême?” “Oh, do be quiet, M. Louis!” Then putting his lips to the young man’s ear, “Tell me, is it true?” “What, Father Courtois?” “That General Bonaparte passed through Lyons yesterday?”