CHAPTER XXX
THE SECRET PRISONER
Monsieur de Salvoison, the governor of the Châtelet who had received Gabriel at his first visit, had recently died, and the new governor was Monsieur de Sazerac.
It was to him that the young man was escorted. Anxiety, with its iron hand, had seized poor Gabriel's throat so tightly that he could not utter a single word; but he silently presented the ring which the king had given him to the governor.
Monsieur de Sazerac bowed gravely.
"I was expecting you, Monsieur," he said; "I received an hour ago the order in which you are interested. My instructions are, upon presentation of this ring, and without asking any other explanation from you, to deliver to you the nameless prisoner who has been detained for many years in the Châtelet under the designation of Number 21. Am I right, Monsieur?"
"Yes, yes, Monsieur," replied Gabriel, eagerly; for hope returning had restored his voice. "And this order, Monsieur le Gouverneur?"
"I am ready to execute, Monsieur."
"Oh, oh! Can it really be?" said Gabriel, shaking from head to foot.
"It surely is so," replied Monsieur de Sazerac, with an accent in which an indifferent person might have detected a shade of sadness and bitterness.
But Gabriel was too distracted and excited by his joy. "Ah, it is true, then!" cried he. "I do not dream. My eyes are open. My insane terrors were dreams; and you are really going to deliver this prisoner to me, Monsieur? Oh, I thank thee, my God! And thanks to thee, Sire! But come, let us go quickly, Monsieur, I beseech you."
He took two or three steps as if to lead the way before Monsieur de Sazerac; but his strength, so vigorous and inexhaustible in the face of suffering and danger, failed him in the excess of his joy. He was obliged to stop for a moment, for his heart was beating so violently and so fast that he thought he should suffocate.
Poor human nature was too weak to undergo such a tumult of conflicting emotions.
The almost despaired-of realization of such far-off hopes and the end and aim of his whole life,—the goal of his superhuman efforts suddenly attained; gratitude to the loyal king and the just God; filial love at last to be satisfied; another passion, still more ardent, to be at last decided for better or worse,—such a multitude of feelings, all aroused and excited at the same moment, made poor Gabriel's heart overflow.
But amid this inexpressible whirl of emotions and almost insane happiness, his least confused thoughts framed themselves into something like a hymn of thanksgiving to Henri II., to whom he owed this delirium of joy.
Gabriel repeated over and over again in his grateful heart his oath to devote his whole life to this truehearted king and his children. How, in God's name, could he for one moment have doubted so noble and excellent a monarch!
But at last, shaking off his ecstatic mood, he said to the governor, who had stopped beside him,—
"Pardon, Monsieur! Pardon this weakness which overcame me for a moment. Joy, you see, is sometimes too heavy a load to carry."
"Oh, do not apologize, Monsieur, I beg!" replied the governor, in a deep voice.
This time Gabriel noticed the tone in which he spoke, and fixed his eyes upon him.
Nowhere could a more kindly, open, and honest face be found. Everything about this prison-governor indicated sincerity and kindness of heart.
Strangely enough, the emotion which at that moment was depicted upon the good man's features, while he observed Gabriel's exuberant happiness, was heartfelt compassion.
Gabriel caught the singular expression, and every vestige of color fled from his cheeks as a presentiment of evil laid hold upon his heart.
But such was his nature that this ill-defined dread, suddenly intruding upon his happiness, served only to impart renewed energy to his valiant soul y and standing proudly erect, he said to the governor,—
"Come, Monsieur, let us go. I am strong again now, and quite ready."
Gabriel and Monsieur de Sazerac thereupon went down into the prison, preceded by a valet carrying a torch.
Gabriel found gloomy souvenirs at every step, and recognized at the windings of the corridors and on the staircases the dark walls which he had seen before, and the sombre impressions which he had experienced on his former visit without being able to explain them.
When they reached the iron door of the dungeon in which he had, with so strange a feeling at his heart, visited the haggard, dumb prisoner, he stopped abruptly.
"He is there," said he, with beating heart.
But Monsieur de Sazerac sorrowfully shook his head.
"No," he replied, "he is no longer there."
"What!" ejaculated Gabriel. "No longer there! Are you mocking me, Monsieur?"
"Oh, Monsieur!" said the governor, in mild reproach.
A cold sweat moistened Gabriel's brow.
"Pardon, pardon," he murmured. "But what do your words imply? Oh, tell me; speak quickly!"
"I am very much grieved to inform you, Monsieur, that last evening the secret prisoner confined here was transferred to a floor below this."
"Ah!" said Gabriel, bewildered. "Why was that, pray?"
"He had been warned, Monsieur, as I think you know, that if he should so much as make an attempt to speak to any person whatsoever, if he uttered the slightest exclamation, and muttered a name, even in response to a question, he would be immediately transferred to a deeper and more terrible and deadly dungeon than his own."
"I know all that," muttered Gabriel, in so low a tone that it did not reach the governor's ear.
"Once before, Monsieur," continued Monsieur de Sazerac, "the prisoner had ventured to disobey that order, and it was then that he was transferred to this dungeon which is before us, and which you have seen,—harsh and cruel enough, God knows. It seems, Monsieur, or so I have been told, that you were informed when you visited the prison before of the doom of eternal silence which he was compelled to undergo, even though alive."
"Yes, yes," said Gabriel, almost insane with impatient dread. "Well, Monsieur?"
"Yesterday evening," continued Monsieur de Sazerac, with sorrow and commiseration in his tones, "just before the outer doors were closed for the night, a man came to the Châtelet,—a man of eminence, whose name I cannot mention."
"No matter; go on!" exclaimed Gabriel.
"This man," pursued the governor, "gave orders that he should be taken to the cell of Number 21. I accompanied him alone. He spoke to the prisoner without at first obtaining a reply, and I hoped that the old man would come out triumphantly from this ordeal; for full half an hour he maintained an immovable silence in the face of all the importunities and provocations that were showered upon him."
Gabriel breathed a deep sigh, and raised his eyes to heaven, but said not a word to interrupt the governor's dolorous recital.
"Unfortunately, the prisoner at last, upon something which was whispered in his ear, rose to a sitting posture, tears gushed from his stony eyes, and he spoke, Monsieur. I was instructed to narrate all these particulars to you, so that you might the more readily believe my word as a gentleman when I add, 'The prisoner spoke.' I declare to you, with sorrow, but upon my honor, that I myself heard him."
"And then?" asked Gabriel, brokenly.
"Thereupon," replied Monsieur de Sazerac, "I was required, in spite of my earnest remonstrances and my entreaties, to fulfil the inhuman duty which my office imposed upon me,—to obey a power higher than mine, and which would have been at no loss to find more willing instruments had I refused,—and to cause the prisoner to be transferred by his dumb jailer to the dungeon beneath this."
"The dungeon beneath this!" cried Gabriel. "Ah, let us go quickly, for I am bringing him deliverance at last!"
The governor sadly shook his head; but Gabriel saw not the motion, for he was already rushing down the slippery and dilapidated steps which led to the lowest depths of the gloomy prison.
Monsieur de Sazerac took the torch from the hands of the attendant, whom he dismissed with a motion, of his hand, and followed Gabriel, with his handkerchief over his mouth.
At every step the air grew fouler and more suffocating. When they reached the foot of the staircase they were fairly gasping for breath, and the feeling was instinctive that nothing could live more than a few moments in that atmosphere, save the unclean creatures they were crushing beneath their feet.
But Gabriel never thought of that. He took from the governor's trembling hands the rusty key that he handed him, and opening the heavy, worm-eaten door, rushed headlong into the dungeon.
By the light of the torch a form could be distinguished in a corner stretched upon a heap of foul straw.
Gabriel threw himself upon the body, drew it from the corner, and tried to restore it to life, crying,—
"Father, father!"
Monsieur de Sazerac fairly shook with horror at that cry.
The arms and the head of the old man fell back inert and lifeless under Gabriel's caressing hands.