had already sunk to rest, and there was a general silence throughout
the building. The few lights which our jailers supplied to us, had
become fewer; and, except for the heavy sound of the doubled sentries'
tread outside, I might have imagined myself in a vast cemetery. The
agitation of the day, followed by the somewhat unsuitable gayety of
the evening, had thrown me into such a state of mental and bodily
fatigue, that I had scarcely laid my side on my bed, untempting as it
was, when I dropped into a heavy slumber. The ingenuity of our
tormentors, however, prohibited our knowing any thing in the shape of
indulgence; and in realisation of the dramatist's renowned _mot_,
"traitors never sleep," the prison door was suddenly flung open--a
drum rattled through the aisle--the whole body of the prisoners were
ordered to stand forth and answer to their names; this ceremony
concluding with the march of the whole night-guard into the chapel,
and their being ordered to load with ball-cartridge, to give us the
sufficient knowledge of what any attempt to escape would bring upon us
in future. This refinement in cruelty we owed to the _escapade_ of the
night before.

At length, after a variety of insulting queries, even this scene was
over. The guard marched out, the roll of their drum passed away among
the cloisters; we went shivering to our beds--threw ourselves down
dressed as we were, and tried to forget France and our jailers.

But a French night in those times was like no other, and I had yet to
witness a scene such as I believe could not have existed in any other
country of the globe.

After some period of feverish sleep I was awakened by a strange
murmur, which, mixing with my dreams, had given me the comfortless