d the dreary
traverse of the catacomb, that the first gush of fresh air conveyed a
sensation almost of new life. The passage had probably been formed in
the period when every large building in Paris was a species of
fortress; and we had still a portcullis to pass. When we first pushed
against it, we felt another momentary pang; but age had made it an
unfaithful guardian, and a few stout attacks on its decayed bars gave
us free way. We were now under the open sky; but, to our
consternation, a new and still more formidable difficulty presented
itself. The moat was still to be passed. To attempt the drawbridge was
hopeless; for we could hear the sentinel pacing up and down its
creaking planks. The moment was critical; for a streak of grey light
in the far east showed that the day was at hand. After resolving all
imaginable plans, and abandoning them all as fruitless; determining,
at all events, never to return, and yet without the slightest prospect
of escape, except in the bottom of that sullen pool which lay at our
feet--the thought occurred to me, that in my return through the vault
I had stumbled over the planks which covered a vault lately dug for a
prisoner. Communicating my idea to Lafontaine, we returned to the
spot, loaded ourselves with the planks, and fortunately found them of
the length that would reach across the narrowest part of the fosse.
Our little bridge was made without delay, and Lafontaine led the way,
followed by the count and Julie, I waiting to see them safe across,
before I added my weight to the frail structure. But I was not yet
fated to escape. The sentinel, whose vigilance I had startled by my
lantern in the cell, had given the alarm; and, as I was setting my
foot on the plank, a discharge of fire-arms came from the battlement
above. I felt that I was struck, and a stunning sensation seized me. I
made an attempt to spring forward, but suddenly found myself unable to
move. The patrol from the drawbridge now surrounded me, and in this
helpless state, bleeding, and as I thought dying, I was hurried back
into the St Lazare.

After a fortnight's suffering in the hospital of the prison, which
alone probably saved me from the guillotine, then almost the natural
death of all the suspected, I was enabled to get on my feet again. I
found the prison as full as ever, but nearly all its inmates had been
changed except the Vendeans, whom the crooked policy of the time kept
alive, partly to avoid raising the