ys, like their chief, were
surly sots. They took him along a low passage where mastiffs which
patrolled it eyed him, threw back a cell door, thrust him in, and
disappeared with their lanterns.

Shut in by low, dark walls, and a roof and floor of stone, reeking with
damp and filth, the cell, though but twenty feet by ten or twelve, was
already the habitation of at least a score of persons.

Their features could not be easily discerned, since the only light in
the obscurity was that of a single candle.

"Comrade, the floor is soft," exclaimed one of the group nearest him--a
man of one eye lying on a pile of straw. "Let me present you to our
_confrere_, the parricide."

"Shut your gob, thief," shouted a voice, and a heavy scuffle ensued.

Germain leaned against the wall to recover his nerves.

The other inmates had been holding a mock revolutionary trial and
condemning one of their number to execution. Some acted the part of
judges, some of jury-men, two of guards.

The man on trial turned indignantly on the criminals who had first
accosted Lecour.

"I pray you, Monsieur," said he courteously to the latter, "Do not take
that for your reception here. Those men are the disgrace of the cell.
The rest of us have been used to a happier condition. Let us introduce
ourselves. I am the Baron de Grancey; my friend, the judge president, is
the Count de Bellecour."

Germain's surprise would have been great had he been less in misery. As
it was he was surprised at nothing. Here it was but another stab in his
heart. Unable to answer he sat down on a stone bench.

"Friends, we must change the diversion," Grancey said sympathetically.
"Perhaps our comrade might feel better over a hand at picquet."

"Ten straws a point!" exclaimed Bellecour. "Dame, it seems to me I know
his face. Where have I met you, sir?"

"De Lincy, _pardieu_!" Grancey echoed, scrutinising the new-comer's
features. "Friend Germain, this is a sorry place to welcome you, but you
will find it brighter than you think; there are wit, forgetfulness,
society, and some happiness, even in the Conciergerie. Wait until you
get up to the corridor to-morrow; you will meet enough of your friends
to hold a respectable reception."

Still Germain could not answer. They did not realise his sorrow and
embarrassment in the presence of the old friends to whose friendship he
felt he had no right. His head remained bent. Of a sudden the candle
flickered out and relieved him o