own; and I am now strong enough to endure
anything.

Fifth of November. My request has been
granted. Upon the tenth of this month I
am to leave my native land for ever! I have
written farewell letters to all those dear to
me.

Tenth evening. What an eventful day I
have passed through! This morning I
started for Cayenne, and now I am again at
Brest. Just as the steam convict ship Le
Laborieux, with myself and four hundred
and nine others, on board, had been towed
out of the port a government boat put off
from the shore, making signals to us to wait
for it. When it came alongside, who should
mount on board but the Governor of the
Bagne and my late employer, Monsieur
Leclare, the inspector of the convicts. After
exchanging a few words with the captain,
they both came up to where I was sitting,
and Monsieur Leclare said, "Delorme, a
telegraphic message has just arrived from
Paris, ordering your return to Brest."

On my arrival at the bagne I found a
letter from my dear father, informing me
that one of the farm-servants of the
unfortunate Gay, named Lumban, has, for some
time past, been looked upon with suspicion
by the villagers, who always call him Lumban-
Gay. Monsieur Fortin, the new public
prosecutor at La Reolle, after instituting an
investigation of the rumours, has caused
Lumban to be arrested.

I am now waiting in a feverish state of
excitement. I cannot sleep.

Fifteenth. This morning my father arrived
here with despatches from the public
prosecutor. His first words were, "He has
confessed!—they are both arrested!"
"Thank God!" I exclaimed, "now I shall
die tranquilly." For a moment I knew
neither what I said nor what I did: my
faculties had abandoned me. But when I
recovered my senses, I asked my father who
were the both he had mentioned. And to
my surprise and consternation he replied:
"The farm-servant and Victor Leblanc, Gay's
nephew!"

Eighteenth. Yesterday a despatch arrived
from Paris; my irons were taken off, and I
became delirious. My companions told me
this morning that I repeated over and over
again: "What happiness; you see I am
innocent! but I have suffered too much!"

Nineteenth. This afternoon I left Brest
after embracing some of my comrades in
captivity, who wept while wishing me good
speed. Although ill, I commenced my journey,
travelling in a post-chaise conducted by
the gendarmerie.

Sixteenth of December. At length, after a
most painful journey, and sleeping in twenty-
five prisons, I have arrived at Bordeaux.
What different thoughts and emotions clashed
together in me! The most trifling things
brought back to my mind such painful
recollections! Before, I had passed through
those very streets covered with chains; now,
my costume is half convict and half civil; I
do not indeed know what I am myself! All
I can say is, I must look very strangely.

I was immediately conducted before
Monsieur, the Public Prosecutor, who has caused
my release from the bagne. In mounting
the steps of the Hall of Justice, I became
bewildered by all the thoughts which
assailed me. Eight years before I had entered
those very doors in such different
circumstances. I shuddered as I thought how
narrowly I escaped losing my head at that time.
On arriving before the worthy magistrate,
to whom I owe my honour and my life, I
ought to have thrown myself at his feet; for
he is my saviour; that is the only name I
can give him. Yet I hardly thanked him!
His presence seemed to chill me. I did not
even smile. Indeed, for a long time now, I
have not known how to smile. What was
going on in me it would be difficult to
explain. But I thought every moment that
my heart would burst.

Seventeenth. I am grieved at the way in
which I presented myself before Monsieur,
the Public Prosecutor. Perhaps he will
think that the bagne has brutified me,—
that my sufferings have made me unfeeling
and indifferent. I will write to him
today to excuse myself ,and express my
gratitude.

Here the diary ends abruptly; but at the
request of his friends, Jules Delorme
subsequently added the little which remained to
be told of his story:

Nothing remarkable occurred during my
stay in the prisons of Bordeaux. I spent
most of my time with Monsieur de la Tour,
who was going once more to defend me before
the assizes. On being transferred to the
prison of La Reolle, I had to bear another
severe trial. My mother and sister, and my
faithful Louise, came to see me. I cannot
look back to that interview. It is impossible
to explain such sentiments, but every feeling
heart can understand them. Besides, why
should I describe those outpourings of family
affection, which can only be imagined by
those who have felt them.

Every day, as I saw my former friends
coming back to me, their numerous marks of
sympathy formed a painful contrast to the
way in which they had abandoned me eight
years before.

Upon the ninth of January, eighteen hundred
and fifty-five, Victor Leblanc and the
farm-servant were tried for the murder of
their uncle and master. The trial was merely
a form, they having both made a clean breast
of it long before. Victor was the instigator,
and the servant was the perpetrator,
of the crime: receiving as his share two
thousand francs, or eighty pounds. My blood
was literally frozen with horror when I saw