knocking on the head three prisoners, the ex-commissary of war, Lemière, the staff-major, Simon, and a robber named the Petit Matelot (little sailor), who were accused of having betrayed their comrades by information, or of having defeated some plot in prison. The person who had pointed them out to the vengeance of the galley-slaves, was a young man, who would have been a good study for a painter, or an actor. With dilapidated green slippers, a hunting waistcoat, destitute of buttons, and nankeen pantaloons, which seemed to defy the inclemency of the weather; his head dress was a helmet without a peak, through the holes of which a tattered night-cap was visible. In the Bicêtre, he was only known by the name of 'mademoiselle,' and I learnt that he was one of those degraded wretches, who abandoned, in Paris, to a course of the most infamous prostitution, find at the Bagne a theatre worthy of the most disgusting debaucheries. The argousins, who ran at the first noise, did not give themselves the least trouble to get the Petit Matelot from the hands of the galley slaves, and he died four days afterwards of the blows he had received. Lemière and Simon would also have perished but for my interference; I had known the former when in the roving army, where he had rendered me some service. I declared that it was he who had supplied me with the tools necessary for undermining the walls at Fort-Mahon, and thenceforward they left him and his companion unmolested.
We passed the night on the stones in a church, then converted into a magazine. The argousins made regular rounds, to assure themselves that no one was engaged in fiddling (sawing their fetters). At daybreak we were all on foot; the lists were read over, and the fetters examined. At six o'clock we were placed in long cars, back to back, the legs hanging down outside; covered with hoar frost and motionless from cold. On reaching St Cyr, we were entirely stripped, to undergo a scrutiny which extended to our stockings, shoes,
