cellars and counters of Paris were popping off their muskets at the
unfortunates who started up against the old casement, I heard a sudden
rush and run; a low postern of the cloister had been flung back, and
the prisoners within the building had made a sally on their
tormentors. A massacre at the Bicêtre, in which six thousand had
perished, had warned these unhappy people that neither the prison
wall, nor night, was to be security against the rage of the
bloodhounds with whom murder seemed to have grown into a pastime; and
after having seen several of their number shot down within their
dungeon, they determined to attack them, and, if they must die, at
least die in manly defence. Their rush was perfectly successful; it
had the effect of a complete surprise; and though their only weapons
were fragments of their firewood--for all fire-arms and knives had
been taken from them immediately on their entrance into the
prison--they routed the heroes of the guard at the first charge. Even
the gallant commander himself only shared the chance of his
"camarades:" a flourish or two of his sabre, and an adjuration of
"liberty," had no other effect than to insure a heavier shower of
blows, and I had the gratification of seeing the braggadocio go down
from his saddle in the midst of a group, who certainly had no
veneration for the majesty of the truncheon. The victory was achieved;
but, like many another victory, it produced no results: the gates of
the St Lazare were too strongly guarded to be forced by an unarmed
crowd, and I saw the prisoners successively and gloomily return to the
only roof, melancholy as that was, which now could shelter them.

The morning brought my case before the authorities of this den. Half a
dozen coarse and filthy uniformed men, and some of them evidently
sufferers in the tumult of the night, for their heads were bound up
and their arms bandaged--a matter which, if it did not improve their