straining for the sensation, in this new atmosphere, of the kiss of
the outlying desert.

"About midnight, at the Camp of the Zouaves, a humble post on the road
embankment, overlooking a dry valley whence rose the feverish perfume
of oleander, we changed horses. They had there a troop of convicts and
impressed laborers, under escort of riflemen and convoys to the
quarries in the South. In part, rogues in uniform, from the jails of
Algiers and Douara,--without arms, of course; the others
civilians--such civilians! this year's recruits, the young bullies of
the Chapelle and the Goutte-d'Or.

"They left before we did. Then the diligence caught up with them. From
a distance I saw in a pool of moonlight on the yellow road the black
irregular mass of the convoy. Then I heard a weary dirge; the wretches
were singing. One, in a sad and gutteral voice, gave the couplet,
which trailed dismally through the depths of the blue ravines:

"'_Maintenant qu'elle est grande,
Elle fait le trottoir,
Avec ceux de la bande
A Richard-Lenoir_.'

"And the others took up in chorus the horrible refrain:

"'_A la Bastille, a la Bastille,
On aime bien, on aime bien
Nini Peau d'Chien;
Elle est si belle et si gentille
A la Bastille_'