In half an hour La Ramee returned, full of glee, like most men who have eaten, and more especially drank to their heart’s content. The were excellent, the wine delicious.  
The weather was fine and the game at tennis took place in the open air.
 
At two o’clock the tennis balls began, according to Grimaud’s directions, to take the direction of the moat, much to the joy of La Ramee, who marked fifteen whenever the duke sent a ball into the moat; and very soon balls were wanting, so many had gone over. La Ramee then proposed to send some one to pick them up, but the duke remarked that it would be losing time; and going near the rampart himself and looking over, he saw a man working in one of the numerous little gardens cleared out by the peasants on the opposite side of the moat.
 
“Hey, friend!” cried the duke.
 
The man raised his head and the duke was about to utter a cry of surprise. The peasant, the gardener, was Rochefort, whom he believed to be in the Bastile.
 
“Well? Who’s up there?” said the man.
 
“Be so good as to collect and throw us back our balls,” said the duke.
 
The gardener nodded and began to fling up the balls, which were picked up by La Ramee and the guard. One, however, fell at the duke’s feet, and seeing that it was intended for him, he put it into his pocket.
 
La Ramee was in at having beaten a prince of the blood.
 
The duke went indoors and to bed, where he spent, indeed, the greater part of every day, as they had taken his books away. La Ramee carried off all his clothes, in order to be certain that the duke would not stir. However, the duke to hide the ball under his and as soon as the door was closed he tore off the cover of the ball with his teeth and found the following letter:
 
My Lord,--Your friends are watching over you and the hour of your deliverance is at hand. Ask day after to-morrow to have a pie supplied you by the new confectioner opposite the castle, and who is no other than Noirmont, your former maitre d’hotel. Do not open the pie till you are alone. I hope you will be satisfied with its contents.
 
“Your highness’s most servant,
 
“In the Bastile, as elsewhere,
 
“Comte de Rochefort.”
 
The duke, who had latterly been allowed a fire, burned the letter, but kept the ball, and went to bed, hiding the ball under his bolster. La Ramee entered; he smiled on the prisoner, for he was an excellent man and had taken a great for the captive prince. He endeavored to cheer him up in his .
 
“Ah, my friend!” cried the duke, “you are so good; if I could but do as you do, and eat pates and drink Burgundy at the house of Father Marteau’s successor.”
 
“‘Tis true, my lord,” answered La Ramee, “that his pates are famous and his wine magnificent.”
 
“In any case,” said the duke, “his cellar and kitchen might easily excel those of Monsieur de Chavigny.”
 
“Well, my lord,” said La Ramee, falling into the trap, “what is there to prevent your trying them? Besides, I have promised him your .”
 
“You are right,” said the duke. “If I am to remain here , as Monsieur Mazarin has kindly given me to understand, I must provide myself with a diversion for my old age, I must turn .”
 
“My lord,” said La Ramee, “if you will take a bit of good advice, don’t put that off till you are old.”
 
“Good!” said the Duc de Beaufort to himself, “every man in order that he may lose his heart and soul, must receive from one of the seven capital sins, perhaps two; it seems that Master La Ramee’s is gluttony. Let us then take advantage of it.” Then, aloud:
 
“Well, my dear La Ramee! the day after to-morrow is a holiday.”
 
“Yes, my lord--Pentecost.”
 
“Will you give me a lesson the day after to-morrow?”
 
“In what?”
 
“In ?”
 
“Willingly, my lord.”
 
“But tete-a-tete. Send the guards to take their meal in the canteen of Monsieur de Chavigny; we’ll have a supper here under your direction.”
 
“Hum!” said La Ramee.
 
The proposal was seductive, but La Ramee was an old stager, acquainted with all the traps a prisoner was likely to set. Monsieur de Beaufort had said that he had forty ways of getting out of prison. Did this proposed breakfast cover some ? He reflected, but he remembered that he himself would have charge of the food and the wine and therefore that no powder could be mixed with the food, no drug with the wine. As to getting him drunk, the duke couldn’t hope to do that, and he laughed at the thought of it. Then an idea came to him which harmonized everything.
 
The duke had followed with anxiety La Ramee’s unspoken soliloquy, reading it from point to point upon his face. But presently the exempt’s face suddenly brightened.
 
“Well,” he asked, “that will do, will it not?”
 
“Yes, my lord, on one condition.”
 
“What?”
 
“That Grimaud shall wait on us at table.”
 
Nothing could be more agreeable to the duke, however, he had presence of mind enough to exclaim:
 
“To the devil with your Grimaud! He will spoil the feast.”
 
“I will direct him to stand behind your chair, and since he doesn’t speak, your highness will neither see nor hear him and with a little effort can imagine him a hundred miles away.”
 
“Do you know, my friend, I find one thing very evident in all this, you distrust me.”
 
“My lord, the day after to-morrow is Pentecost.”
 
“Well, what is Pentecost to me? Are you afraid that the Holy Spirit will come as a tongue of fire to open the doors of my prison?”
 
“No, my lord; but I have already told you what that damned magician predicted.”
 
“And what was it?”
 
“That the day of Pentecost would not pass without your highness being out of Vincennes.”
 
“You believe in sorcerers, then, you fool?”
 
“I---I mind them no more than that----” and he snapped his fingers; “but it is my Lord Giulio who cares about them; as an Italian he is .”
 
The duke his shoulders.
 
“Well, then,” with well acted good-humor, “I allow Grimaud, but no one else; you must manage it all. Order whatever you like for supper--the only thing I is one of those pies; and tell the confectioner that I will promise him my custom if he excels this time in his pies--not only now, but when I leave my prison.”
 
“Then you think you will some day leave it?” said La Ramee.
 
“The devil!” replied the prince; “surely, at the death of Mazarin. I am fifteen years younger than he is. At Vincennes, ‘tis true, one lives faster----”
 
“My lord,” replied La Ramee, “my lord----”
 
“Or dies sooner, for it comes to the same thing.”
 
La Ramee was going out. He stopped, however, at the door for an instant.
 
“Whom does your highness wish me to send to you?”
 
“Any one, except Grimaud.”
 
“The officer of the guard, then, with his chessboard?”
 
“Yes.”
 
Five minutes the officer entered and the duke seemed to be immersed in the combinations of chess.
 
A strange thing is the mind, and it is wonderful what revolutions may be in it by a sign, a word, a hope. The duke had been five years in prison, and now to him, looking back upon them, those five years, which had passed so slowly, seemed not so long a time as were the two days, the forty-eight hours, which still parted him from the time for his escape. Besides, there was one thing that engaged his most anxious thought--in what way was the escape to be effected? They had told him to hope for it, but had not told him what was to be hidden in the mysterious . And what friends awaited him without? He had friends, then, after five years in prison? If that were so he was indeed a highly favored prince. He forgot that besides his friends of his own sex, a woman, strange to say, had remembered him. It is true that she had not, perhaps, been faithful to him, but she had remembered him; that was something.
 
So the duke had more than enough to think about; accordingly he fared at chess as he had f............