“My Lord,—There is a time when man ceases to be barbarous and unjust; it is when his approaching dissolution compels him to descend into the gloom of his conscience, and to deplore the cares, griefs, pains, and misfortunes, which he has caused to his fellow creatures: allow me to say fellow creatures, for you must now see that of which you would never before allow yourself to be convinced, or persuade yourself to know, that the sovereign and excellent celestial workman has formed us all on the same model, and that he designed men to be distinguished from each other by their virtues alone. Now, then, my lord, you are aware that for eleven years you have subjected me to sufferings, and to enduring a thousand deaths in the Bastile, where the most disloyal and wicked subject of the king would be still worthy of pity and compassion. How much more then ought they to be shown to me, whom you have doomed to rot there, for having disobeyed your order, which, had I performed it, would have condemned my soul to eternal torment, and made me pass into eternity with blood-stained hands. Ah! if you could but hear the sobs, the lamentations and groans, which you extort from me, you would quickly set me at liberty. In the name of the eternal God, who will judge you as well as me, I implore you, my lord, to take pity on my sufferings and bewailings; and, if you wish that He should show mercy to you, order my chains to be broken before your death hour comes, for when that comes, you will no longer be at leisure to do me that justice which I must require only from you, and you will persecute me even after you are no more, from which God keep us, if you will permit yourself to be moved by the most humble prayer of a man who has ever been a loyal subject to the king.” This application was made in vain. If the cardinal ever saw it, which is doubtful, it failed to penetrate his iron heart; he “died, and made no sign,” in favour of the wretched supplicant. From Dussault’s evident despair of ever being freed except by Richelieu, it may be conjectured that, as an agent of the minister, he had given inexpiable offence to some one on whom power was now likely to devolve; and this supposition is rendered more probable, by his captivity having been subsequently protracted to an extraordinary length. It was not till the 20th of June, 1692, that he was dismissed, after having languished in the Bastile for sixty one years! At his advanced age,—for he must at least have been between eighty and ninety—he could scarcely have deemed the boon of liberty a blessing. In the common course of nature, all his kindred and friends must have been gone, and as his habits were wholly unfitted for the turmoil of the world, and he was, perhaps, exposed to want, it is not unnatural to conclude that he may have been a solitary and starving wanderer for the brief remainder of his existence. A situation more forlorn than this it would be difficult to imagine. CHAPTER VII.