ss on. The gloom of the place---the silence, only broken by the heavy
bang of an iron-barred door, or the clank of chains, the sad thoughts
of the many who trod these corridors on their way to death--depressed me
greatly, and equally unprepared me for what was to come; for as we drew
near the great hall, the busy hum of voices, the sound of laughter, and
the noises of a large assembly in full converse, suddenly burst upon the
ear; and as the wide doors were thrown open, I beheld above a hundred
people, who, either gathered in single groups, or walking up and down in
parties, seemed all in the fullest enjoyment of social intercourse.

A great table, with here and there a large flagon of water, or a huge
loaf of the coarse bread used by the peasantry, ran from end to end of
the chamber. A few had already taken their places at this, but some were
satisfied with laying a cap or a kerchief on the bench opposite their
accustomed seat; while others again had retired into windows and
corners, as if to escape the general gaze, and partake of their humble
meal in solitude.

Whatever restrictions prison discipline might have exercised elsewhere,
here the widest liberty seemed to prevail. The talk was loud, and even
boisterous; the manner to the turnkeys exhibited nothing of fear: the
whole assemblage presented rather the aspect of a gathering of riotous
republicans than of a band of prisoners under sentence. And yet such
were the greater number, and the terrible slip of paper attached to the
back of each, with a date, told the day on which he was to die.

As I lingered to gaze on this strange gathering, I was admonished to
move on, and now perceived that my companion had advanced to the end
of the hall, by which a small flight of stone steps led out upon a
terrace--at the end of which we entered another and not less spacious
chamber, equally crowded and noisy. Here the company were of both sexes,
and of every grade and condition of rank--from the highest noble of the
former Court, to the humblest peasant of La Vendee. If the sounds of
mirth and levity were less frequent, the buzz of conversation was,
to the full, as loud as in the lower hall, where, from difference
of condition in life, the scenes passing presented stranger and more
curious contrasts. In one corner a group of peasants were gathered
around a white-haired priest, who, in a low but earnest voice, was
uttering his last exhortation to them; in another, some young and