leries, and was still strongly suspected of being
a spy of the Bourbons. The crowd who knew his story, who are always
delighted with a blow at power, burst into a general roar. But a
little spruce fellow on the bench, who had already exhibited a desire
to take his share in the interrogatory, now thrust his head over the
table, and said in his most searching tone--

"To come to the point--Prisoner, how do you live? What are your means?
All honest men must have visible means. That is _my_ question." (All
eyes were now turned on me.)

I was now growing angry; and, pointing to the pile of purses and
watches on the table--

"No man," said I, "needs ask what are your visible means, when they
see that pile before you. Yet I doubt if that proves you to be an
honest man. That is _my_ answer."

The little inquisitor looked furious, and glanced towards the chief
for protection; but his intrusion had provoked wrath in that quarter,
and his glance was returned with a rigid smile.

"Prisoner," said the head of the tribunal, "though the question was
put improperly, it was itself a proper one. How do you live?"

"By my abilities."

"That is a very doubtful support in those times."

"I do not recommend you, or any of those around you, to make the
experiment," was my indignant answer.

The bystanders gave a general laugh, in which even the guard joined.
To get the laugh against one, is the most unpardonable of all injuries
in France, and this answer roused up the whole tribunal. They scarcely
gave themselves the trouble of a moment's consultation. A few nods and
whispers settled the whole affair; and the chief, standing up and
drawing his sabre from its sheath--then the significant custom of
those places of butchery, pronounced the fatal words, "Guilty of
_incivisme_. Let the criminal be conducted _a la Force_," the
well-known phrase for immediate execution.

The door was opened from which none ever came back. Two torches were
seen glaring down the passage, and I was seized by the grim escort who
were to lead me to the axe.

The affectation of cowardice is as childish as the affectation of
courage; but I felt a sensation at that moment which took me by
surprise. I had been perfectly assured of my sentence from the first
glance at the judges. If ever there was a spot on earth which deserved
Dante's motto of Erebus--

"Voi qui entrate, lasciate agui speranza"--

it was the revolutionary tribunal. Despair was written al