Alfred; or, The Adventures of a French Gentleman — page 59: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

45 ALFRED 3; OR ADVENTURES prison wherein the convicts were destined to pass the night. The massive doors were speedily opened by a sulky-looking gaoler, whose stern countenance only relaxed into an expression of civility when the chain had entered the court-yard of the prison, and the Gendarmes had closed the rear. | The convicts were detached from each other, and conducted by twos, or threes, or fours, to different cachots, according to the size of those dungeons. Some meagre soup, mouldy bread, parched peas, and cold water, were then distributed amongst them; and the doors of their cells closed upon them for the night. It happened that De Rosann, Belle-Rose, and Champignon were confined together in the same hole; and they all three congratulated themselves on this circumstance. De Rosann was pleased, because he had become accustomed to the garrulity of his comrade; Belle- Rose was himself delighted that chance had thus thrown them toge- ther, as he intended to make use of De Rosann’s experience at the bagne to farther his own plans of escape; and Champignon preferred being locked up with one, who, having tasted his dishes at the Cadran Rouge, could compliment him upon their excellence. « But,” thought our hero within himself, ‘‘ how different are these from former times! Instead of domestics to pamper my appetite with a variety of Inxuries, a sulky gaoler flings me a morsel of bread, as if I were a dog; damp walls replace the gorgeous cur- tains that were drawa around me at night: coarse straw supports my aching head, beneath which downy pillows once were laid; rogues, murderers, thieves, are my companions—my associates. Oh! Eloise—Eloise! didst thou now see thy still faithful Alfred !” A violent flood of tears interrupted those bitter reflections ; and Belle-Rose, instead of laughing at that which the other convicts would have called puerile grief, endeavoured with rude consolation to compose the feelings of the unhappy young man. ‘¢ Come, my dear De Rosann, don’t be chicken-hearted,’’ cried he; ‘¢if you will but follow my advice, when we are together at Brest, yon shall soon have the clef des champs* at your disposal. Only half an hour ago, as we were standing in the yard to be unchained, while those cursed Gendarmes levelled their carabines at us, I noticed, amongst a groupe of individuals in prison for want of passports, a person ‘whom I knew at the galleys at Toulon, and who escaped with me.’ ‘¢ Did he recognise you?” inquired Champignon. ‘* Recognise me! Parbleu, did he,” returned Belle-Rose empha- tically >.¢ ‘he owes me an eternal debt of oratitude.”’ ‘¢ Ah! how so? did you cook him a dinner?” asked the curious gastronomer. ‘¢ No—but I saved him from the galleys by knocking him on the head, and leaving him for dead,” was the reply. “Thave done the same to many a rabbit,’ said Champignon complacently, ‘‘ although not for the same purpose.” * Literally, “ the key of the country;’? metaphorically used for ‘“‘ personal freedom.” ECORNNIClOOKS (E©)