m the
Latin."

"True, that is probable."

"Well, then: 'Fortuna infortunat--'"

"Oh! Oh! 'Infortunat.'"

"Bless me!"

"That strongly resembles a solecism!"

"What do you want?"

"An explanation."

"Explain it yourself."

"Well; 'Fortuna, infortuna, forti una.' 'Fortune and misfortune are
alike to the strong.'"

"Do you know, that may possibly be the correct translation?"

"Zounds! See what it is not to be learned, my dear sir; we are endowed
with common-sense, and that sees clearer than science. Have you anything
else to tell me?"

"No."

"Then let us go to the prison."

We got into the carriage and returned to the city, stopping only at the
gate of the prison. I glanced out of the window.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, "they have spoiled it for me."

"What! They've spoiled it for you?"

"Certainly, it was not like this in my prisoners' time. Can I speak to
the jailer?"

"Certainly."

"Then let us consult him."

We knocked at the door. A man about forty opened it. He recognized M.
Leduc.

"My dear fellow," M. Leduc said to him, "this is one of my learned
friends--"

"Come, come," I exclaimed, interrupting him, "no nonsense."

"Who contends," continued M. Leduc, "that the prison is no longer the
same as it was in the last century?"

"That is true, M. Leduc, it was torn down and rebuilt in 1816."

"Then the interior arrangements are no longer the same?"

"Oh! no, sir, everything was changed."

"Could I see the old plan?"

"M. Martin, the architect, might perhaps be able to find one for you."

"Is he any relation to M. Martin, the lawyer?"

"His brother."

"Very well, my friend, then I can get my plan."

"Then we have nothing more to do here?" inquired M. Leduc.

"Nothing."

"Then I am free to go home?"

"I shall be sorry to leave you, that is all."

"Can you find your way to the Bastion without me?"

"It is close by."

"What are you going to do this evening?"

"I will spend it with you, if you wish."

"Very good! You will find a cup of tea waiting for you at nine."

"I shall be on hand for it."

I thanked M. Leduc. We shook hands and parted.

I went down the Rue des Lisses (meaning Lists, from a combat which
took place in the square to which it leads), and skirting the Montburon
Garden, I reached the Place du Bastion. This is a semicircle now used as
the town marketplace. In the midst stands the statue of Bichat by
David d'Angers. Bichat, in a frockcoat--why that exaggera