the prisoners in batches,
and so handing them over for slaughter. In vain Harry tried to
penetrate into the inner part of the prison. He was roughly repulsed
by the men guarding the door; and at last, finding that nothing
could be done, he forced his way out again into the open air, and
hurrying away for some distance, threw himself on the ground and
burst into a passion of tears.

After a time he rose and made his way back to the house where he
had left Victor de Gisons. He found him in a state of delirium,
acting over and over again the scene in the Abbaye, cursing the
judge and executioners, and crying out he would die with his father.

"What does the doctor think of him?" he asked the woman who was
sitting by Victor's bed.

"He did not say much," the woman replied. "He shook his head, and
said there had been a terrible mental shock, and that he could not
answer either for his life or reason. There was nothing to do but
to be patient, to keep his head bandaged with wet cloths, and to
give him water from time to time. Do not be afraid, sir; we will
watch over him carefully."

"I would stay here if I could," Harry said; "but I have others
I must see about. I have the terrible news to break to some young
ladies of the murder of their father and mother."

"Poor things! Poor things!" the woman said, shaking her head. "It
is terrible! My husband was telling me what he saw; and a neighbour
came in just now and said it was the same thing at all the other
prisons. The priest, too--our priest at the little church at the
corner of the street, where I used to go in every morning to pray
on my way to market--he was dragged away ten days ago to the
Carmelites, and now he is a saint in heaven. How is it, sir, that
God allows such things to be?"

"We cannot tell," Harry said sadly. "As for myself, I can hardly
believe it, though I saw it. They say there are over four thousand
people in the prisons, and they will all be murdered. Such a thing
was never heard of. I can hardly believe that I am not in a dream
now."

"You look almost like one dead yourself," the woman said pityingly.
"I have made a bouillon for Jacques' breakfast and mine. It is
just ready. Do take a mouthful before you go out. That and a piece
of bread and a cup of red wine will do you good."

Harry was on the point of refusing; but he felt that he was utterly
worn and exhausted, and that he must keep up his strength. Her
husband, therefore, took her pl