tial
humaneness of mankind in general), Monsieur the Viscount amused
himself by catching the insects (which were only too plentiful) in an
old oyster-shell, and then setting them at liberty on the stone for
the benefit of his friend. As for him, all appeared to be fish that
came to his net--spiders and beetles, slugs and snails from the damp
corners, flies, and wood-lice found on turning up the large stone,
disappeared one after the other. The wood-lice were an especial
amusement: when Monsieur the Viscount touched them, they shut up into
tight little balls, and in this condition he removed them to the
stone, and placed them like marbles in a row, Monsieur Crapaud
watching the proceeding with rapt attention. After awhile the balls
would slowly open and begin to crawl away; but he was a very active
wood-louse indeed who escaped the suction of Monsieur Crapaud's
tongue, as, his eyes glowing with eager enjoyment, he bolted one after
another, and Monsieur the Viscount clapped his hands and applauded.

The grated window was a very fine field for spiders and other insects,
and by piling up stones on the floor, Monsieur the Viscount contrived
to scramble up to it, and fill his friend's oyster-shell with the
prey.

One day, about a year and nine months after his first arrival at the
prison, he climbed to the embrasure of the window, as usual,
oyster-shell in hand. He always chose a time for this when he knew
that the court would most probably be deserted, to avoid the danger of
being recognized through the grating. He was, therefore, not a little
startled at being disturbed in his capture of a fat black spider by a
sound of something bumping against the iron bars. On looking up, he
saw that a string was dangling before the window with something
attached to the end of it. He drew it in, and, as he did so, he
fancied that he heard a distant sound of voices and clapped hands, as
if from some window above. He proceeded to examine his prize, and
found that it was a little round pincushion of sand, such as women use
to polish their needles with, and that, apparently, it was used as a
make-weight to ensure the steady descent of a neat little letter that
was tied beside it, in company with a small lead pencil. The letter
was directed to "_The prisoner who finds this._" Monsieur the Viscount
opened it at once. This was the letter--

"_In prison, 24th Prairial, year 2_.

"_Fellow-sufferer, who are you? how long have you been impriso