My guards crossed the river in the neighborhood of palaces, and came by many windings to a huge pile rearing its back near a garden place, and there I was turned over to jailers and darkness. The entrance was unwholesome. A man at a table opened a tome which might have contained all the names in Paris. He dipped his quill and wrote by candlelight. "Political offender or common criminal?" he inquired. "Political offender," the officer answered. "What is he charged with?" "Trying to assassinate the emperor in his post-chaise." "La, la, la!" the recorder grunted. "Another attempt! And gunpowder put in the street to blow the emperor up only last week. Good luck attends him:--only a few windows broken and some common people killed. Taken in the act, was this fellow?" "With the knife in his hand." "What name?" the recorder inquired. I had thought on the answer, and told him merely that my name was Williams. "Eh, bien, Monsieur Veeleeum. Take him to the east side among the political offenders," said the master-jailer to an assistant or turnkey. "But it's full," responded the turnkey. "Shove him in some place." They searched me, and the turnkey lighted another candle. The meagerness of my output was beneath remark. When he had led me up a flight of stone steps he paused and inquired, "Have you any money?" "No." "So much the worse for you." "What is the name of this prison?" I asked. "Ste. Pelagie," he answered. "If you have no money, and expect to eat here, you better give me some trinket to sell for you." "I have no trinkets to give you." He laughed. "Your shirt or breeches will do." "Are men shut up here to starve?" The jailer shrugged. "The bread is very bad, and the beans too hard to eat. We do not furnish the rations; it is not our fault. The rule here is nothing buys nothing. But sleep in your breeches while you can. You will soon be ready enough to eat them." I was ready enough to eat them then, but forbore to let him know it. The whole place was damp and foul. We passed along a corridor less than four feet wide, and he unlocked a cell from which a revolting odor came. There was no light except what strained through a loophole under the ceiling. He turned the key upon me, and I held my nose. Oh, for a deep draught of the wilderness! There seemed to be an iron bed at one side, with a heap of rags on top. I resolved to stand up all night before trusting myself to that couch. The cell was soon explored. Two strides in each direction measured it. The stone walls were marked or cut with names I could dimly see. I braced my back against the door and watched the loophole where a gray hint of daylight told that the sun must be still shining. This faded to a blotch in the thick stone, and became obliterated.