It was almost three o'clock in the morning when Celeste slipped out of the palace again. She was dressed in a simple gray and black dress with a black cloak covering her and hooding her face.

There was a carriage waiting in a dark alleyway near the palace.

She tapped lightly on the door and it instantly opened and Aramis gave her a hand in.

"How is he?" he asked instantly.

"He's angry with me but not so angry as not to see me and tell me he loved me," said Celeste. Her face was slightly pale as the carriage rumbled through Paris. "I'm hurting him. More deeply than any of you could ever know." She turned and pressed her face into Aramis's shoulder. "May God forgive me for it. For I'm surely dammed for what I've done," she whispered.

"You are trying to redeemed yourself," said Aramis. "By saving a country and righting a great wrong."

Before long, both Porthos and Celeste where asleep. Celeste's was from sheer exuastion. She had not slept in two days, so great was her anxiety.

Athos looked at Aramis. "Porthos and Celeste sleep and you plot."

Aramis smiled and nodded.

"Don't you think it's time you told me what it is you are plotting?"

"Soon," said Aramis. He looked out the window. "Here we are." He woke Celeste and Athos woke Porthos.

It was still night and they stepped out the carriage and saw they where at the French Coast. Lying just off the coast, was the forbidden island, where the imposing fortress of the prison rose up.

"The prison of Belle Sur," said Athos.

Aramis took Celeste's arm. "Come, we have a boat waiting."

Hooded Jesuits appeared from the nearby shadows to guide them. Celeste and Aramis where neither surprised. Athos and Porthos glanced at each other. Porthos shrugged and stumped after them. He had heard many rumors of the prison and was beginning to suspect he had a dark idea of what Aramis and Celeste knew.

They where led down a hilly path to a long boat, hidden among the large rocks that dot the coast. There was a man sitting next to the boat. He was a scrawny little man in priest's garb. At his feet was a long narrow bundle, about the size of a mummy, with a rope tied at either end.

The guides drug the boat across the sand into the surf.

Aramis took off his outer robes. The hooded Jesuits helped him as he lifted the bundle by its ropes and tied it around his waist.

"What is that?" asked Athos.

"A body," said Aramis calmly.

"I see that it's a body!" exclaimed Athos. "But where did you get it?"

Aramis ignored him.

"It's not relevant," said Celeste. "Just be assured I provided it."

Athos stared at her.

A hororable thought popped into Porthos's head. "That's not Louis's body, is it?"

Celeste gave a slight smile. "In a way."

"Oh that we should be so lucky," muttered Aramis. The Jesuits pulled a large priest's garb over his head and arranged them. With the robes spreading over the big bundle tied around Aramis's waist, he appeared to be a fat priest. A wig and a false beard made him look like a wild, reclusive monk.

Celeste giggled and Aramis smiled at her.

"He gets one day of confession each year. Today is the day," said Celeste.

"Who does?" asked Athos.

"Best not to ask. Shouldn't even talk about it," said Porthos.

Aramis stepped into the boat. The little priest got in as well, along with a couple of rowers.

"God go with you," said Celeste.

Aramis nodded.
"What do we do now?" asked Athos.

"I don't know about you, but I plan to wait here," said Porthos.

Celeste watched as the rowers pulled toward the fortress prison.

The pink light of the new day barely penetrated the gloom of the prison. The boat carrying Aramis and the little priest reached the gate of the prison.

As Aramis steps out, the guards came forward.

"Who is this, then?"

The little priest remained in the boat, slumped over. One guard spoke to the little priest in Italian and the little man barely lifted his head. At last Aramis spoke in Italian.

The guard turned. "He says he's the replacement."

Aramis rattled off his Italian for a few more moments.

"He says it is only one day a month when the prisoner gets confession, and the little one is too sick to move. The big one doesn't speak French either."

The other guard sighed. "Then let's get it done."

The man in the iron mask was sitting in his cell. His Bible had been torn a few weeks ago. And he had used the torn pages to make all sorts of amazing origami, inventing from his own head. He looked up when he heard the door open. He blinked at Aramis. "My confession day! But where is the other one?"

Aramis said something in Latin, the first words of the ceremony of absolution, as the guards locked the door behind him and moved off down the corridor.

The man looked at Aramis. "I know you don't speak my language, but is the other one all right? Please tell me he is not dead too, or I will have lost everyone."

Aramis continued mumbling in Latin as the he listened to the guards retreating.

But the man in the iron mask was desperate for someone to talk to. "I…tore my Bible. Or someone else did. But it was all right. 'Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of m heart be acceptable in thy sight, Oh Lord out God and my Redeemer.'"

Aramis stopped and stared at him.

The man blinked at him. Slowly his hand came up and he touched the iron mask that had been on his head almost five years now. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "You've never seen me before. I must frighten you."

Aramis put a finger to his lips and shook his head.

The man stared at him. "What are you doing? Why do you…"

Aramis clamped his hand over the mouth hole. "I am a friend, here to help you." Quickly he pulled his robes off, revealing the bundle tied around his waist.

"What…"

"It is an escape," said Aramis. "To freedom."

"Freedom?" the man said it as if it where a concept that was far beyond his imagination.

Aramis undid the bundle, revealing a dead body.

The man stared at it. "What! He's dead! Who is he?" He stared with wide eyes at Aramis.

"He is you," said Aramis. He uncovered the head of the body. It was covered with an iron mask, just like the one the man wore.

The guards had just sat down to begin on their bottle of wine, when they heard loud shouts.

"Hey! Hey!"

The first guard sighed and stood back up. "What now?"

The guards entered the cell to find the man in the iron mask slumped on the floor. And the fat priest, was standing over him, spouting Italian frantically.

The first guard listened for a moment and then looked at the other one. "He says he just fell stone dead as he was reading the Mass."

The second guard shook his head. "I never thought the bugger would last this long. But how could he just keel over and…"

Aramis kept rattling off in Italian.

Suddenly, the guard was examining the body jumped back. "He says the prisoner has the fever, just like the little priest does."

The second guard's eyes widened. "Plague! They brought plague in here! Get him out of here. Now!"

Aramis began protesting.

"No!" snapped the first guard. "No last rites. Get away!"

Celeste had removed her shoes and was walking ankle deep in the water, when she spotted the boat. "Here he comes."

Athos and Porthos stood as the boat reached the shores. Aramis lumbered out and waddled into the shadows and removed his robes.

Celeste, Athos and Porthos came running.

The prisoner dangled, tied wrist and ankle, around Aramis's neck.

"My God…" exclaimed Athos.

"You did it!" exclaimed Celeste. "You may have just saved France, Aramis."

"Let's hope I did."

Porthos and Athos gawked as Aramis loosened the ropes and the man fell from around Aramis's neck and landed on his back.

They all backed away.

Aramis wrapped his arm around Celeste's waist and they waited.

He instantly shielded his eyes as he saw the sky. Endlessly blue and so bright.

"It's all right," said Aramis. "Take your time."

At last the man sat up.

Aramis let go of Celeste and helped him stand. Then he turned him slowly to face the prison in the distance.

The man stared at it for a long moment, then he fell to his knees and began weeping.

Aramis hesitated and then stepped back.

"Athos."

Athos looked at Celeste, surprise still written all over his face.

"He needs a gentle hand," she said,

Athos moved forward hesitantly and put his hand on the man's shoulder.

The man held his hands against the mask as if to hide his shame as he wept, thanking God for his freedom.