atification of seeing her child!"

Shortly after that the Countess Sarah Macgregor breathed her last.

CHAPTER VIII.

BICETRE.

A fortnight had elapsed since Sarah's death, and it was mid-Lent Sunday.
This date established, we will conduct the reader to Bicetre, an immense
building, which, though originally designed for the reception of insane
persons, is equally adapted as an asylum for seven or eight hundred poor
old men, who are admitted into this species of civil invalid hospital
when they have reached the age of seventy years, or are afflicted with
severe infirmities.

The entrance to Bicetre is by a large court, planted with high trees,
and covered in the centre by a mossy turf, intersected with flower beds
duly cultivated. Nothing can be imagined more healthful, calm, or
cheerful than the promenade thus devoted to the indigent old beings we
have before alluded to. Around this square are the spacious and airy
dormitories, containing clean, comfortable beds; these chambers form the
first floor of the building, and immediately beneath them are the neatly
kept and admirably arranged refectories, where the assembled community
of Bicetre partake of their common meal, excellent and abundant in its
kind, and served with a care and attention that reflects the highest
praise on the directors of this fine institution.

In conclusion of this short notice of Bicetre, we will just add that at
the period at which we write the building also served as the abode of
condemned criminals, who there awaited the period of their execution.

It was in one of the cells belonging to the prison that the Widow
Martial and Calabash were left to count the hours till the following
day, on which they were to suffer the extreme penalty of the law.

Nicholas, the Skeleton, and several of the same description of ruffians
had contrived to escape from La Force the very night previous to the day
on which they were to have been transferred to Bicetre.

Eleven o'clock had just struck as two _fiacres_ drew up before the outer
gate; from the first of which descended Madame Georges, Germain, and
Rigolette, and from the second Louise Morel and her mother. Germain and
Rigolette had now been married for some fifteen days.

We must leave the reader to imagine the glow of happiness that
irradiated the fair face of the grisette, whose rosy lips parted but to
smile, or to lavish fond words upon Madame Georges, whom she took every
occasion of ca