n, which, entering at the north, or Bab-el-Oued gate,
completely traversed the city under that name as far as the Dey's
palace, where it changed its name to Bab-Azoun, and terminated at the
south gate of the same name.

In this street was the Bagnio, already mentioned as being the prison of
the government slaves.

Here Bacri paused, drew a glittering coin from his pocket, and knocked
at a strong oaken door. A janissary opened, and roughly demanded his
business, but changed his tone at once and gave the Jew admission, on
receiving the coin.

Passing though a lobby, whose marble pillars were sadly broken and
disfigured, the Jew entered a courtyard, open to the sky, around which
were a number of recesses or cells. In these the unhappy slaves sat
huddled together. They were not cold, for it was summer; but their
misery and want of space probably induced them to cling closely to each
other.

The place had once been a bathing establishment, and an old fountain
still gurgled in the centre of the court; but its drains had been choked
long ago, and the waters had overflowed, to find exit as they best
might, rendering the floor a damp and uncomfortable residence for
scorpions, centipedes, and other repulsive insects.

The slaves received only two small rolls of black bread as their rations
at the close of each day, and they were too eagerly engaged in devouring
these to pay much regard to their visitor.

Looking carefully round, the Jew at length discovered the objects of his
search,--Francisco, Lucien, and Mariano Rimini. The two first were
seated side by side, eating their meagre meal. Mariano lay near them,
heavily laden with irons, and also endeavouring to eat.

"Friends," said Bacri, approaching them.

"Villain!" cried Mariano, starting up into a reclining attitude, despite
the agony that the act occasioned, and fixing his eyes on the Jew.

"You do me injustice, young man," said Bacri, seating himself on the
basement of a pillar.

"It may be that he does you injustice," said Lucien sternly,
"nevertheless we have all of us good reason to believe that you are a
friend of the pirate Hassan, and no friend of ours."

"Whether friend or foe, say thy say, man, and be gone," cried the bluff
Francisco, whose spirit suffered even more than his body from the
indignities to which he had been subjected that day.

"Listen, then," said Bacri impressively. "You know my name and nation,
but you do not know that I am the