Hurtful as such items of news—which reached them solely through English sources or through equally unsympathetic French sources, such as the Bishop of Moulins, whose France was not their France—were to their patriotic feelings, they were all tending to bring about the day of their release. In 1814 the Allies invaded France, and successfully advanced upon Paris. Napoleon abdicated, and was allowed to retire to Elba, and at length the news reached Norman Cross that on the 30th May the Treaty of Paris, which meant freedom for all prisoners of war, had been signed. [Picture: Plate XX.—Model of the Prison of Norman Cross, England, in the County of, and 4½ Leagues from, Huntingdon (In the Musée de l’Armée, Hôtel des Invalides, Paris)] [Picture: Plate XXI.—Key Plan of M. Foulley’s Model of the Prison of Norman Cross, England] Deeply as many an old soldier among the 4,617 of the prisoners at Norman Cross on that date resented the fall of the hero he had worshipped, his great general, the Emperor, bitterly as the majority resented the sight of the white flag of the Bourbons which had been mounted in each quadrangle, the one dominant feeling in the breasts of the prisoners was wild joy at their imminent freedom and restoration to their own loved country; they embraced, they danced, they sang, and they cried for joy. The military barracks had not been an abode of luxury or comfort, and the garrison caught the infection of exuberant joy; a party of them seized the Glasgow Mail Coach, on its arrival at Stilton, and drew it to Norman Cross, whither the coachman, horses, and guard were obliged to follow. Among the prisoners who witnessed the scenes of rejoicing at this time was M. Foulley, who had been confined at Norman Cross for five years and three months. The scene impressed him so strongly, that after his return to France he made a model of the Depot as it appeared during the celebration of the departure of the first detachment of liberated prisoners for France. This model has already been criticised and described in Chapter II, but the place for the photograph is here, in the last chapter of this volume. The figures in the quadrangles, the garrison drawn up in line, with its back to the prison, at attention, ready to salute the departing prisoners, who only a day before it had to guard with loaded muskets and fixed bayonets, tell of the buried hatchet, of the new-born peace between France and England, which has endured for ninety-eight years, and which is cemented and invigorated by the existing _entente cordiale_.