in which are inscribed the names of all those whom misconduct, crime,
misfortune, madness, or error have brought to these grim portals.

Three or four attendants, who were awaiting the hour for entering upon
their duties, reclined half asleep upon the wooden benches that lined
three sides of the room. These benches, with a couple of tables, and
some dilapidated chairs, constituted the entire furniture of the office,
in one corner of which stood a measuring machine, under which each
culprit was obliged to pass, the exact height of the prisoners being
recorded in order that the description of their persons might be
complete in every respect.

At the entrance of the culprit accompanied by Lecoq, the clerk raised
his head. "Ah!" said he, "has the van arrived?"

"Yes," responded Lecoq. And showing the orders signed by M. d'Escorval,
he added: "Here are this man's papers."

The registrar took the documents and read them. "Oh!" he exclaimed,
"a triple assassination! Oh! oh!" The glance he gave the prisoner
was positively deferential. This was no common culprit, no ordinary
vagabond, no vulgar thief.

"The investigating magistrate orders a private examination," continued
the clerk, "and I must get the prisoner other clothing, as the things
he is wearing now will be used as evidence. Let some one go at once and
tell the superintendent that the other occupants of the van must wait."

At this moment, the governor of the Depot entered the office. The clerk
at once dipped his pen in the ink, and turning to the prisoner he asked: