There was in all this, as may have been observed, one personageconcerned, of whom, notwithstanding his precarious position, wehave appeared to take but very little notice. This personage wasM. Bonacieux, the respectable martyr of the political and amorousintrigues which entangled themselves so nicely together at thisgallant and chivalric period.

Fortunately, the reader may remember, or may not remember - fortunately we have promised not to lose sight of him.

The officers who arrested him conducted him straight to theBastille, where he passed trembling before a party of soldierswho were loading their muskets. Thence, introduced into a half-subterranean gallery, he became, on the part of those who hadbrought him, the object of the grossest insults and the harshesttreatment. The officers perceived that they had not to deal witha gentleman, and they treated him like a very peasant.

At the end of half an hour or thereabouts, a clerk came to put anend to his tortures, but not to his anxiety, by giving the orderto conduct M. Bonacieux to the Chamber of Examination.Ordinarily, prisoners were interrogated in their cells; but theydid not do so with M. Bonacieux.

Two guards attended the mercer who made him traverse a court andenter a corridor in which were three sentinels, opened a door andpushed him unceremoniously into a low room, where the onlyfurniture was a table, a chair, and a commissary. The commissarywas seated in the chair, and was writing at the table.

The two guards led the prisoner toward the table, and upon a signfrom the commissary drew back so far as to be unable to hearanything.

The commissary, who had till this time held his head down overhis papers, looked up to see what sort of person he had to dowith. This commissary was a man of very repulsive mien, with apointed nose, with yellow and salient cheek bones, with eyessmall but keen and penetrating, and an expression of countenanceresembling at once the polecat and the fox. His head, supportedby a long and flexible neck, issued from his large black robe,balancing itself with a motion very much like that of thetortoise thrusting his head out of his shell. He began by askingM. Bonacieux his name, age, condition, and abode.

The accused replied that his name was Jacques Michel Bonacieux,that he was fifty-one years old, a retired mercer, and lived Ruedes Fossoyeurs, No. 14.

The commissary then, instead of continuing to interrogate him,made him a long speech upon the danger there is for an obscurecitizen to meddle with public matters. He complicated thisexordium by an exposition in which he painted the power and thedeeds of the cardinal, that incomparable minister, that conquerorof past minister, that conqueror of past ministers, that examplefor ministers to come - deeds and power which none could thwartwith impunity.

After this second part of his discourse, fixing his hawk's eyeupon poor Bonacieux, he bade him reflect upon the gravity of hissituation.

The reflections of the mercer were already made; he cursed theinstant when M. Laporte formed the idea of marrying him to hisgoddaughter had been received as Lady of the Linen to herMajesty.

At bottom the character of M. Bonacieux was one of profoundselfishness mixed with sordid avarice, the whole seasoned withextreme cowardice. The love with which his young wife hadinspired him was a secondary sentiment, and was not strong enoughto contend with the primitive feelings we have just enumerated.Bonacieux indeed reflected on what had just been said to him.

"But, Monsieur Commissary," said he, calmly, "believe that I knowand appreciate, more than anybody, the merit of the incomparableeminence by whom we have the honor to be governed."

"Indeed?" asked the commissary, with an air of doubt. "If thatis really so, how came you in the Bastille?"

"How I came there, or rather why I am there," replied Bonacieux,"that is entirely impossible for me to tell you, because I don'tknow myself; but to a certainty it is not for having, knowinglyat least, disobliged Monsieur the Cardinal."

"You must, nevertheless, have committed a crime, since you arehere and are accused of high treason."

"Of high treason!" cried Bonacieux, terrified; "of high treason!How is it possible for a poor mercer, who detests Huguenots andwho abhors Spaniards, to be accused of high treason? Consider,monsieur, the thing is absolutely impossible."

"Monsieur Bonacieux," said the commissary, looking at the accusedas if his little eyes had the faculty of reading to the verydepths of hearts, "you have a wife?"

"Yes, monsieur," replied the mercer, in a tremble, feeling thatit was at this point affairs were likely to become perplexing;"that is to say, I HAD one."

"What, you 'had one'? What have you done with her, then, if youhave her no longer?"

"They have abducted her, monsieur."

"They have abducted her? Ah!"

Bonacieux inferred from this "Ah" that the affair grew more andmore intricate.

"They have abducted her," added the commissary; "and do you knowthe man who has committed this deed?"

"I think I know him."

"Who is he?"

"Remember that I affirm nothing, Monsieur the Commissary, andthat I only suspect."

"Whom do you suspect? Come, answer freely."

M. Bonacieux was in the greatest perplexity possible. Had hebetter deny everything or tell everything? By denying all, itmight be suspected that he must know too much to avow; byconfessing all he might prove his good will. He decided, then,to tell all.

"I suspect," said he, "a tall, dark man, of lofty carriage, whohas the air of a great lord. He has followed us several times,as I think, when I have waited for my wife at the wicket of theLouvre to escort her home."

The commissary now appeared to experience a little uneasiness.

"And his name?" said he.

"Oh, as to his name, I know nothing about it; but if I were everto meet him, I should recognize him in an instant, I will answerfor it, were he among a thousand persons."

The face of the commissary grew still darker.

"You should recognize him among a thousand, say you?" continuedhe.

"That is to say," cried Bonacieux, who saw he had taken a falsestep, "that is to say - "

"You have answered that you should recognize him," said thecommissary. "That is all very well, and enough for today; beforewe proceed further, someone must be informed that you know theravisher of your wife."

"But I have not told you that I know him!" cried Bonacieux, indespair. "I told you, on the contrary - "

"Take away the prisoner," said the commissary to the two guards.

"Where must we place him?" demanded the chief.

"In a dungeon."

"Which?"

"Goof Lord! In the first one handy, provided it is safe," saidthe commissary, with an indifference which penetrated poorBonacieux with horror.

"Alas, alas!" said he to himself, "misfortune is over my head; mywife must have committed some frightful crime. They believe meher accomplice, and will punish me with her. She must havespoken; she must have confessed everything - a woman is so weak!A dungeon! The first he comes to! That's it! A night is soonpassed; and tomorrow to the wheel, to the gallows! Oh, my God,my God, have pity on me!"

Without listening the least in the world to the lamentations ofM. Bonacieux - lamentations to which, besides, they must have beenpretty well accustomed - the two guards took the prisoner each byan arm, and led him away, while the commissary wrote a letter inhaste and dispatched it by an officer in waiting.

Bonacieux could not close his eyes; not because his dungeon wasso very disagreeable, but because his uneasiness was so great.He sat all night on his stool, starting at the least noise; andwhen the first rays of the sun penetrated into his chamber, thedawn itself appeared to him to have taken funereal tints.

All at once he heard his bolts drawn, and made a terrified bound.He believed they were come to conduct him to the scaffold; sothat when he saw merely and simply, instead of the executioner heexpected, only his commissary of the preceding evening, attendedby his clerk, he was ready to embrace them both.

"Your affair has become more complicated since yesterday evening,my good man, and I advise you to tell the whole truth; for yourrepentance alone can remove the anger of the cardinal."

"Why, I am ready to tell everything," cried Bonacieux, "at least,all that I know. Interrogate me, I entreat you!"

"Where is your wife, in the first place?"

"Why, did not I tell you she had been stolen from me?"

"Yes, but yesterday at five o'clock in the afternoon, thanks toyou, she escaped."

"My wife escaped!" cried Bonacieux. "Oh, unfortunate creature!Monsieur, if she has escaped, it is not my fault, I swear."

"What business had you, then, to go into the chamber of MonsieurD'Artagnan, your neighbor, with whom you had a long conferenceduring the day?"

"Ah, yes, Monsieur Commissary; yes, that is true, and I confessthat I was in the wrong. I did go to Monsieur D'Artagnan's."

"What was the aim of that visit?"

"To beg him to assist me in finding my wife. I believed I had aright to endeavor to find her. I was deceived, as it appears,and I ask your pardon."

"And what did Monsieur d'Artagnan reply?"

"Monsieur d'Artagnan promised me his assistance; but I soon foundout that he was betraying me."

"You impose upon justice. Monsieur d'Artagnan made a compactwith you; and in virtue of that compact put to flight the policewho had arrested your wife, and has placed her beyond reach."

"Fortunately, Monsieur d'Artagnan is in our hands, and you shallbe confronted with him."

"By my faith, I ask no better," cried Bonacieux; "I shall not besorry to see the face of an acquaintance."

"Bring in the Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the commissary to theguards. The two guards led in Athos.

"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the commissary, addressing Athos,"declare all that passed yesterday between you and Monsieur."

"But," cried Bonacieux, "this is not Monsieur d'Artagnan whom youshow me."

"What! Not Monsieur d'Artagnan?" exclaimed the commissary.

"Not the least in the world," replied Bonacieux.

"What is this gentleman's name?" asked the commissary.

"I cannot tell you; I don't know him."

"How! You don't know him?"

"No."

"Did you never see him?"

"Yes, I have seen him, but I don't know what he calls himself."

"Your name?" replied the commissary.

"Athos," replied the Musketeer.

"But that is not a man's name; that is the name of a mountain,"cried the poor questioner, who began to lose his head.

"That is my name," said Athos, quietly.

"But you said that your name was D'Artagnan."

"Who, I?"

"Yes, you."

"Somebody said to me, 'You are Monsieur d'Artagnan?' I answered,'You think so?' My guards exclaimed that they were sure of it.I did not wish to contradict them; besides, I might be deceived."

"Monsieur, you insult the majesty of justice."

"Not at all," said Athos, calmly.

"You are Monsieur d'Artagnan."

"You see, monsieur, that you say it again."

"But I tell you, Monsieur Commissary," cried Bonacieux, in histurn, "there is not the least doubt about the matter. Monsieurd'Artagnan is my tenant, although he does not pay me my rent - andeven better on that account ought I to know him. MonsieurDessessart's Guards, and this gentleman is in the company ofMonsieur de Treville's Musketeers. Look at his uniform, MonsieurCommissary, look at his uniform!"

"That's true," murmured the commissary; "PARDIEU, that's true."

At this moment the door was opened quickly, and a messenger,introduced by one of the gatekeepers of the Bastille, gave aletter to the commissary.

"Oh, unhappy woman!" cried the commissary.

"How? What do you say? Of whom do you speak? It is not of mywife, I hope!"

"On the contrary, it is of her. Yours is a pretty business."

"But," said the agitated mercer, "do me the pleasure, monsieur,to tell me how my own proper affair can become worse by anythingmy wife does while I am in prison?"

"Because that which she does is part of a plan concerted betweenyou - of an infernal plan."

"I swear to you, Monsieur Commissary, that you are in theprofoundest error, that I know nothing in the world about what mywife had to do, that I am entirely a stranger to what she hasdone; and that if she has committed any follies, I renounce her,I abjure her, I curse her!"

"Bah!" said Athos to the commissary, "if you have no more need ofme, send me somewhere. Your Monsieur Bonacieux is verytiresome."

The commissary designated by the same gesture Athos andBonacieux, "Let them be guarded more closely than ever."

"And yet," said Athos, with his habitual calmness, "if it beMonsieur d'Artagnan who is concerned in this matter, I do notperceive how I can take his place."

"Do as I bade you," cried the commissary, "and preserve absolutesecrecy. You understand!"

Athos shrugged his shoulders, and followed his guards silently,while M. Bonacieux uttered lamentations enough to break the heartof a tiger.

They locked the mercer in the same dungeon where he had passedthe night, and left him to himself during the day. Bonacieuxwept all day, like a true mercer, not being at all a militaryman, as he himself informed us. In the evening, about nineo'clock, at the moment he had made up his mind to go to bed, heheard steps in his corridor. These steps drew near to hisdungeon, the door was thrown open, and the guards appeared.

"Follow me," said an officer, who came up behind the guards.

"Follow you!" cried Bonacieux, "follow you at this hour! Where,my God?"

"Where we have orders to lead you."

"But that is not an answer."

"It is, nevertheless, the only one we can give."

"Ah, my God, my God!" murmured the poor mercer, "now, indeed, Iam lost!" And he followed the guards who came for him,mechanically and without resistance.

He passed along the same corridor as before, crossed one court,then a second side of a building; at length, at the gate of theentrance court he found a carriage surrounded by four guards onhorseback. They made him enter this carriage, the officer placedhimself by his side, the door was locked, and they were left in arolling prison. The carriage was put in motion as slowly as afuneral car. Through the closely fastened windows the prisonercould perceive the houses and the pavement, that was all; but,true Parisian as he was, Bonacieux could recognize every streetby the milestones, the signs, and the lamps. At the moment ofarriving at St. Paul - the spot where such as were condemned atthe Bastille were executed - he was near fainting and crossedhimself twice. He thought the carriage was about to stop there.The carriage, however, passed on.

Farther on, a still greater terror seized him on passing by thecemetery of St. Jean, where state criminals were buried. Onething, however, reassured him; he remembered that before theywere buried their heads were generally cut off, and he felt thathis head was still on his shoulders. But when he saw thecarriage take the way to La Greve, when he perceived the pointedroof of the Hotel de Ville, and the carriage passed under thearcade, he believed it was over with him. He wished to confessto the officer, and upon his refusal, uttered such pitiable criesthat the officer told him that if he continued to deafen himthus, he should put a gag in his mouth.

This measure somewhat reassured Bonacieux. If they meant toexecute him at La Greve, it could scarcely be worth while to gaghim, as they had nearly reached the place of execution. Indeed,the carriage crossed the fatal spot without stopping. Thereremained, then, no other place to fear but the Traitor's Cross;the carriage was taking the direct road to it.

This time there was no longer any doubt; it was at the Traitor'sCross that lesser criminals were executed. Bonacieux hadflattered himself in believing himself worthy of St. Paul or ofthe Place de Greve; it was at the Traitor's Cross that hisjourney and his destiny were about to end! He could not yet seethat dreadful cross, but he felt somehow as if it were coming tomeet him. When he was within twenty paces of it, he heard anoise of people and the carriage stopped. This was more thanpoor Bonacieux could endure, depressed as he was by thesuccessive emotions which he had experienced; he uttered a feeblegroan which night have been taken for the last sigh of a dyingman, and fainted.