Gaston had the curiosity to see if Dumesnil had replied to Mademoiselle de Launay. He opened the Virgil; there was no letter, but some words were underlined in pencil, and Gaston read: "Meos amores," and "Carceris oblivia longa." He understood this method of correspondence, which consisted in underlining words which, placed together, made sense. "Ah," said Gaston, fastening the book to the string, "it seems that I have become the postman." Then he sighed deeply, remembering that he had no means of corresponding with Helene, and that she was entirely ignorant what had become of him. This gave him sympathy for the attachment of Mademoiselle de Launay and the Chevalier Dumesnil. He returned to the chimney. "Monsieur," said he, "your letter is dispatched." "A thousand thanks, chevalier. Now a word more, and I will leave you to sleep in peace." "Oh, say whatever you wish, monsieur." "Have you spoken with the prisoner below?" "Yes." "Who is he?" "The Marquis de Pompadour." "I thought so. What did he say?" "'Good-evening,' and asked who I was; he had no time to ask more; the method of communication is not as expeditious as it is ingenious." "You must make a hole, and then you can talk as we do." "What with?" "I will lend you my knife." "Thank you." "It will serve to amuse you, at least." "Give it me." "Here it is." And the knife fell at Gaston's feet. "Now, shall I send back the bell?" "Yes; for my jailers might miss it to-morrow morning, and you do not want light for your conversation with Pompadour." "No; certainly not." And the bell was drawn up. "Now," said the chevalier, "you must have something to drink with your sweets, and I will send you a bottle of champagne." "Thank you," said Gaston, "do not deprive yourself of it; I do not care much for it." "Then when you have made the hole, you shall pass it to Pompadour, who is of a very different opinion. Stay, here it is." "Thank you, chevalier." "Good-night." "Good-night." And the string ascended. Gaston looked for the string at the window, and saw that it had disappeared. "Ah," sighed he, "the Bastille would be a palace for me, if my poor Helene were in Mademoiselle de Launay's place." Then he resumed a conversation with Pompadour, which lasted till three in the morning, and in which he told him that he was going to pierce a hole, that they might have more direct communication. CHAPTER XXVIII. A COMPANION IN THE BASTILLE. Thus occupied, Gaston was more uneasy than ennuyé; besides, he found another source of amusement. Mademoiselle de Launay, who obtained whatever she liked from the lieutenant, Maison-Rouge, provided her request were only accompanied by a sweet smile, obtained paper and pens; she had sent some to Dumesnil, who had shared them with Gaston, with whom he still communicated, and with Richelieu, with whom also he managed to correspond. Then Gaston formed the idea of making some verses to Helene.