like a bad shilling, comes back to the Bagne after
being discharged, is distinguished by one yellow
sleeve dishonourably contrasting with his red
vest; after a second relapse, by two. It is rarely
that a third arm is required to display a triple
badge of disgrace. A green cap marks prisoners
sentenced for life.

My planton is an active, obliging little fellow,
sharp as a needle, and probably not deaf to the
remarks of visitors. Anxious to do the honours
of the place, he would show me the Taureau,
submarine steam-ram, which is to rip open ships'
bellies under water, as the rhinoceros
disembowels his antagonists when he catches them on
his nasal horn. A gang of forçats passes us,
showing their naked heads in profile. What a
lot to frighten a phrenologist! I had already
noticed some not at all bad faces, but these heads
present everything that is exaggerated and
unbalanced in cranial form.

"Have you many educated persons here?"
I ask.

"Plenty; bankers, advocates, huissiers, notaries,
priests. At the bazaar, where things made
by the forçats are sold for their benefit, you will
find exceedingly well-mannered individuals."

"We must reserve that and other things for
to-morrow."

I am naturally anxious to get at Fourrier, and
give my companion a sketch of his story. He
listens attentively. No harm will be done if he
reports it.

There is no appearance of being so near a
prison. Nothing announces the home of criminals,
most of whom have lost all hope on earth. A
high-arched wooden bridge is the isthmus which
conducts from the arsenal to the peninsula and
the floating islands of punishment. The site of
the locality, amidst blue waters and clear skies,
would of itself give you any other idea than that
of breathing an atmosphere of wickedness. So
little has the Bagne the aspect of a prison, that
you are inside it before you are aware. You
simply behold buildings covering a large space
of ground, widespread and rambling rather than
lofty, with little to indicate their purpose.

The first step to be taken now, is to present
myself to the commissaire and obtain his
countenance. I am ushered to an upper room, where
I find a gentleman in quiet but handsome
uniform, behind a most business-looking library
table. He receives me politely, but in the way
in which you receive people when you have not
the slightest idea what they are come about. He
takes my letters, retires to the recess of a window
to read them, and returns with an altered
countenance and manner.

"You are quite en règle, monsieur," he cordially
observes.

I bow, as in duty bound.

"Perfectly en règle. We will do what we can
to comply with your wishes. Monsieur Asterisk,
if you please!"

Monsieur Asterisk answers his superior's
summons. He is a tall stout man, with a broad,
pale, colourless face, and a subdued expression
of great intelligence.

"Monsieur is an Englishman," continues the
commissaire, "well recommended, who desires
to see the interior of the Bagne, and also to
speak with No.——let me see," referring to
the letter, "with No. 9999. You will please
give him a competent guide."

"Ah, No. 9999!" said M. Asterisk, raising
his eyes to the ceiling to consult his memory.
"No. 9999 is Fournier."

"Extraordinary!" observed the chief. "I
have only to name a number, and you at once
name the party belonging to it."

"After so many years of service, I have
naturally acquired the faculty," M. Asterisk modestly
replies. "The gentleman can easily see the
Bagne and also speak with Fournier."

"His name is Fourrier," I interposed, " Pierre
François; in the Salle des Incurables."

"The same. But, I beg pardon, he is Fournier;
has always been Fournier at the Bagne."

With so important and well-memoried an
official it was not worth disputing about a letter;
so I acquiesced in his orthography, and prepared
to take my leave.

"Tell Fournier to be in readiness. You can
now visit all you require," said the commissaire,
with a courteous smile. " Pray give my
compliments to M. Zurcher. I shall be glad to hear
of his better health."

Here let me, once for all, testify to the polite
and obliging treatment which I met with from
every one with whom I had to do at Toulon.

With an adjutant, therefore, added to my planton
—quite a suite—I commence my round of
inspection, which must be briefly described. A
long room, lodging some two hundred convicts,
but for its extreme cleanliness and one or two
minor accessories, might be taken for a wild
beasts' den. It is all bars, and bolts, and boards.
Amongst those accessories are, at the further
end, a crucifix, to remind the guilty in this world
of the Saviour who died to redeem them in the
next, and a letter-box; for the prisoners have
free permission to write to their friends, subject,
of course, to perusal before posting. Nor is reading
forbidden, in some wards at least; Victor
Hugo's " Misérables" having been listened to
with great interest. The entrance door of this
room is formed of iron bars, resembling an extra-
strong park gate; so that even when shut
everything that passes inside is visible to the guards
without. The bed is a long wooden bench slightly
raised at the head, whose surface is softened by
a slight mattress for the éprouvés only. One
blanket is the covering; but Toulon, be it
remembered, is in the south. At the bed's head are
placed the rations of black-brown bread allowed
to each individual. All along the foot runs an
iron bar, to which the chains are fastened when
their wearers retire to rest.

There is a Salle des Blessés, a ward for the
wounded—and how they get wounded is often
known only to the forçats themselves. There is