r our procession came in view. The people, pouring from the
houses in thousands, blocked the roads until they became almost
impassable, and the leader of the horsemen was in despair. Every one
wished to see the wretch who had murdered Conde, and numbers shook
their fists at me and cried, "Kill the assassin!"

Some, however, regarded me as a martyr, and angry cries against the
soldiers, mingled with shouts of "Down with Conde!" began to be heard.
At one spot in particular a determined rush was made by a number of
burly ruffians directed by a little man from the window of a corner
house. I recognised my late gaoler, Pillot, and was glad that he had
escaped, though much afraid that his attempted rescue would only make
the authorities more certain of my guilt.

Two or three soldiers were knocked over, but the rush was stayed, and
after this the friends of De Retz, for such I concluded them to be,
confined their attention chiefly to threats. Still the danger of an
outbreak was considerable, and the officer in charge, fearful of the
consequences, decided to convey me to the Bastille.

By riding through the less frequented streets, and breaking into a trot
wherever such a course was possible, we gradually drew ahead of our
undesirable escort, and at length turned into the famous avenue.
Throughout the journey I had anxiously scanned the faces of the
multitude, hoping to see Raoul, or D'Arcy, or my English friend, John
Humphreys. But I had not recognised a single acquaintance, and now my
heart sank as we halted before the first massive gate, guarded by
sentries.

As soon as the drawbridge was lowered, we crossed to the court where
the Governor's house was situated, and the officer, dismounting,
entered, reappearing in a few minutes with the order for my admission
into the fortress. Escorted by two prison officials, I walked up the
narrow avenue to the second drawbridge, passed the guard-house, and
stood in the wide court, while the ponderous gates clanged behind me,
as if shutting out all hope.

"La Calotte de la Baziniere," said one, and the other, bidding me
follow, ascended to the highest storey of the nearest tower, and
unlocked the door of a room into which I entered--a prisoner of the
Bastille!

The turnkey swung his lantern around, hoped--rather sarcastically to my
thinking--that I should be comfortable, relocked the door, then the
outer door, and I was left, not simply alone and in darkness, but
beyond the