"

"In Great Britain; close to France."

The questioner behind the counter cast an inquiring look at my escort:--

"Is it so?" he asked.

The subordinate answered him in a pleasant way, that I had spoken the
truth. Happily an Englishman, it seems, is a rarity within those prison
walls.

I was passed into an adjoining room, which reminded me of the back
parlour of a Holywell Street clothes shop, only that it was rather
lighter. Its sides consisted entirely of sets of great pigeon-holes,
each occupied by the habiliments or effects of some prisoner.

"Have you any valuables?"

"Few enough." My purse, watch, and pin were rendered up, ticketed, and,
deposited in one of the compartments. I was then beckoned into a long
paved passage or corridor down some twenty stone steps, into the densest
gloom. Presently I discerned before me a massive door studded with
bosses, and crossed with bars and bolts. A police-soldier, armed with a
drawn sabre, guarded the entrance to Punishment Room No. 1. The bolts
gave way; and, in a few moments, I was a prisoner within.

Punishment Room No. 1, is a chamber some fifteen paces long by six broad,
with a tolerably high ceiling and whitened walls. It has but two
windows, and they are placed at each end of one side of the chamber.
They are of good height, and look out upon an inclosed gravelled space,
variegated with a few patches of verdure. The room is tolerably light.
On each side are shelves, as in barracks, for sleeping. In one corner,
by the window, is a stone sink; in another, a good supply of water.

Such is the prison; but the prisoners! There were
forty-eight--grey-haired men and puny boys--all ragged, and stalking with
slippered feet from end to end with listless eyes. Some, all eagerness;
some, crushed and motionless; some, scared and stupid; now singing, now
swearing, now rushing about playing at some mad game; now hushed or
whispering, as the loud voice of the Vater (or father of the ward) is
heard above the uproar, calling out "Ruhe!" ("Order!")

On my entrance I was instantly surrounded by a dozen of the younger
jail-birds, amid a shout of "Ein Zuwachs! Ein Zuwachs!" which I was not
long in understanding to be the name given to the last comer. "Was haben
sie?" (What have you done?) was the next eager cry. "Struck a
Polizeidiener!" "Ei! das ist gut!" was the hearty exclamation; and I was
a favourite immediately. One dirty villanous-looking fellow, with but