"No, indeed, it was not a land of delights," Florent resumed, forgetting
all about little Pauline, and fixing his dreamy eyes upon the steaming
pot. "Every day brought fresh annoyances--perpetual grinding tyranny,
the violation of every principle of justice, contempt for all human
charity, which exasperated the prisoners, and slowly consumed them with
a fever of sickly rancour. They lived like wild beasts, with the lash
ceaselessly raised over their backs. Those torturers would have liked to
kill the poor man--Oh, no; it can never be forgotten; it is impossible!
Such sufferings will some day claim vengeance."

His voice had fallen, and the pieces of fat hissing merrily in the pot
drowned it with the sound of their boiling. Lisa, however, heard him,
and was frightened by the implacable expression which had suddenly come
over his face; and, recollecting the gentle look which he habitually
wore, she judged him to be a hypocrite.

Florent's hollow voice had brought Pauline's interest and delight to the
highest pitch, and she fidgeted with pleasure on his knee.

"But the man?" she exclaimed. "Go on about the man!"

Florent looked at her, and then appeared to remember, and smiled his sad
smile again.

"The man," he continued, "was weary of remaining on the island, and
had but one thought--that of making his escape by crossing the sea
and reaching the mainland, whose white coast line could be seen on the
horizon in clear weather. But it was no easy matter to escape. It was
necessary that a raft should be built, and as several of the prisoners