ough baffled, they by no
means gave up the battle.

As time wore on, this half-persecution died away; each day brought some
prisoner or other amongst us, or removed some of those we had to other
places of confinement, and thus I became forgotten in the interest of
newer events. About a week after my entrance we were walking as usual
about the gardens, when a rumor ran that a prisoner of great consequence
had been arrested the preceding night and conveyed to the Temple; and
various surmises were afloat as to who he might be, or whether he should
be au secret or at large. While the point was eagerly discussed, a low
door from the house was opened, and the jailer appeared, followed by a
large, powerful man, whom in one glance I remembered as the chief of the
Vendean party at the chateau, and the same who effected his escape in
the Bois de Boulogne. He passed close to where I stood, his arm folded
on his breast; his clear blue eye bent calmly on me, yet never by the
slightest sign did he indicate that we had ever met before. I divined
at once his meaning, and felt grateful for what I guessed might be a
measure necessary to my safety.

"I tell you," said a shrivelled old fellow, in a worn dressing-gown and
slippers, who held the "Moniteur" of that day in his hand, "I tell you
it is himself; and see, his hand is wounded, though he does his best to
conceal the bandage in his bosom."

"Well, well! read us the account; where did it occur?" cried two or
three in a breath.

The old man seated himself on a bench, and having arranged his
spectacles and unfolded the journal, held out his hand to proclaim
silence, when suddenly a wild cheer broke from the distant part of
the garden, whither the newly arrived prisoner had turned his steps; a
second, louder, followed, in which the wild cry of "Vive le Roi!" could
be distinctly heard.

"You hear them," said the old man; "was I right now? I knew it must be
him."

"Strange enough, too, he should not be _au secret_," said another;
"the generals have never been suffered to speak to any one since their
confinement. But read on, let us hear it."

"'On yesterday morning,'" said the little man, reading aloud, "'Picot,
the servant of George, was arrested; and although every endeavor was
made to induce him to confess where his master was--'"

"Do you know the meaning of that phrase, Duchos?" said a tall,
melancholy-looking man, with a bald head. "That means the torture; thumb
screws and