n reflections, yet did I prefer their
company to that of my fellow-prisoners, for whom already I began to
conceive a perfect feeling of abhorrence. Revolting, indeed, was the
indifference to fame, honor, and even life, which I already witnessed
among them; but what was it compared with the deliberate treachery of
men who could wait for the hour when the heart, overflowing with sorrow,
opened itself for consolation and comfort, and then search its every
recess for proofs of guilt that should bring the mourner to the
scaffold?

How any government could need, how they could tolerate, such assassins
as these, I could not conceive. And was this his doing? were these his
minions, whose high-souled chivalry had been my worship and my idolatry?
No, no; I'll not believe it. Bonaparte knows not the dark and terrible
secrets of these gloomy walls. The hero of Arcole, the conqueror of
Italy, wots not of the frightful tyranny of these dungeons: did he but
know them, what a destiny would wait on those who thus stain with crime
and treachery the fame of that "Belle France" he made so great!

Oh! that in the hour of my accusation,--in the very last of my life,
were it on the step of the guillotine,--I could but speak with words to
reach him, and say how glory like his must be tarnished if such deeds
went on unpunished; that while thousands and thousands were welcoming
his path with cries of wild enthusiasm and joy, in the cold cells of the
Temple there were breaking hearts, whose sorrow-wrung confessions were
registered, whose prayers were canvassed for evidences of desires that
might be converted into treason. He could have no sympathy with men like
these.. Not such the brave who followed him at Lodi; not kindred souls
were they who died for him at Marengo. Alas, alas! how might men read
of him hereafter, if by such acts the splendor of his greatness was
to suffer stain! While thoughts like these filled my mind, and in the
excitement of awakened indignation I trod my little cell backwards and
forwards, the jailer entered, and having locked the door behind him,
approached me.

"You are the Sous-Lieutenant Burke: is it not so? Well, I have a letter
for you; I promised to deliver it on one condition only,--which is, that
when read, you shall tear it in pieces. Were it known that I did this,
my head would roll in the Plaine de Grenelle before daybreak tomorrow.
I also promised to put you on your guard: speak to few here; confide in
non