Another story is told that may well be placed along with the above, in proof of the base ingratitude of which a convict may be guilty. A man had been sentenced to death, and was awaiting execution with horror, not so much from dread of the guillotine as of the disgrace that would fall upon his family from such a case in its records. A fellow convict also sentenced to death sought to console him. “You dread the dishonor of the public execution,” said he. “I’ll tell you how you can avoid it, and die in another way.” “Suicide, do you mean?” “Not at all,” was the reply. “Listen to me. I have not the smallest hope of a reprieve; the proofs are overwhelming. Now, no one can be executed twice, so I may safely kill as many people as I choose. I will tell you what I will do for you. I have a knife concealed in a safe place, and some night when you are sound asleep, I will come and make short work of you. It need not hurt you, for I will do it with one blow.” Strange to say the man, over whom death hung with absolute certainty, disliked the idea of losing his life a day or two before the inevitable time. He went at once to the governor of the Conciergerie, where he was lodged at that time, and told the whole story, saying he went in fear of his life, and wished to be put in another part of the prison. The friendly murderer was highly indignant when he heard of this treachery, and next time a man complained to him of his impending disgraceful death, advised him to throw himself over the staircase and take his own life. The origin of the word _musique_ may interest the curious reader. It arose from the practice of collecting together all the _coqueurs_ and spies having secret information in a circle, when the recognition of some unknown new arrival was considered essential. The latter was then placed in the middle of the circle, very much as a bandmaster stands when surrounded by the musicians. An objection to this custom was that the quality of these informers was thus revealed, and exposed them all to the vengeance of their victims and their friends. Strange means were adopted for circulating the news. The same Chenu mentioned above tells us how, when he was in the exercising yard, a projectile dropped at his feet, launched by some hand beyond the walls. When picked up it proved to be a small pellet made of chewed bread. “_Un postillon_,” cried someone, and all gathered round in a group to hear the message, which was known by that name, contained in the piece of bread: “Avril, who is now in Bicêtre through the treachery of Lacenaire, wishes all friends to know.”