I was not only treated with kindness and attention here, but with a degree of candor that amazed me. The daily papers were freely placed before me, and I read how a well-known member of the “French Convention,” popularly called Couvre-Tête, but styling himself the Count de Gabriac, had been brought up before the magistrates under a charge of a grave description, which, for the ends of justice, had been investigated with closed doors. Several others were in custody for their implication in the same charge, it was added, and great hopes maintained that the guilty parties would be made amenable to the law. Mr. Holt, the jailer, spoke of all the passing events of the day freely in my presence, and discussed the politics and position of France, and the condition of parties, with all the ease of old intimacy between us. At first, I half suspected this to be a mere artifice to lure me on to some unguarded expression, or even some frank admission about myself; but I gradually grew out of this impression, and saw him as he really was, a straightforward, honorable man, endeavoring to lighten the gloom of a dreary duty by acts of generosity and benevolence. Save that it was captivity, I really had nothing to complain of in my life at this period. Mr. Holt's family was numerous, and daily some two or three guests, generally persons in some degree placed similarly to myself, were present at his table; and with these my time passed smoothly and even swiftly along. The confinement, however, and a depression, of which I was not conscious myself, at length made their impression on my health, and one morning Mr. Holt remarked to me that I was scarcely looking so well as usual. “It is this place, I have no doubt,” said he, “disagrees with you; but you will be liberated in a day or two.” “How so?” asked I, in some surprise. “Have you not heard of Gabriac's death,” said he, “by suicide? He was to have been brought up a second time for examination on Friday last, but he was found dead in his cell, by poison, on Thursday evening.” I scarcely heard him through the details which followed. I only could catch a stray expression here and there; but I collected enough to learn that he had written a full exculpation of all the others who had been accused with himself, and specially with regard to me, of whom, also, it was said, he forwarded some important papers to some one high in station. This conversation occurred on a Saturday, and on the following Monday I was liberated. “I told you how it would be, Mr. Carew,” said Holt, as he read me out the order, “and I hope sincerely there are now better and pleasanter days before you. More prosperous ones they are likely to be, for I have a Secretary of State's order to hand you one hundred pounds, which, I can assure you, is a rare event with those who leave this.” While I stood amazed at this intelligence, he went on: