Mameluke guard the Consul had brought with him from Egypt had no other function than the murder of the prisoners confined there. Little thought I then that in a few brief months I should pass beneath that black portcullis a prisoner. Little did I anticipate, as I wended my homeward way, my heart heavy and my step slow, that the day was to come when in my own person I was to feel the sorrows over which I then wept for others. CHAPTER XXXIII. THE TEMPLE This was the second morning of my life which opened in the narrow cell of a prison; and when I awoke and looked upon the bare, bleak walls, the barred window, the strongly bolted door, I thought of the time when as a boy I slept within the walls of Newgate. The same sad sounds were now about me: the measured tread of sentinels; the tramp of patrols; the cavernous clank of door-closing, and the grating noise of locking and unlocking heavy gates; and then that dreary silence, more depressing than all,--how they came back upon me now, seeming to wipe out all space, and bring me to the hours of my boyhood's trials! Yet what were they to this? what were the dangers I then incurred to the inevitable ruin now before me? True, I knew neither the conspirators nor their crime; but who would believe it? How came I among them? Dare I tell it, and betray her whose honor was dearer to me than my life? Yet it was hard to face death in such a cause; no sense of high though unsuccessful daring to support me; no strongly roused passion to warm my blood, and teach me bravely to endure a tarnished name. Disgrace and dishonor were all my portion,--in that land, too, where I once hoped to win fame and glory, and make for myself a reputation among the first and greatest. The deep roll of a drum, followed by the harsh turning of keys in the locks along the corridor, interrupted my sad musings; and the next minute my door was unbolted, and an official, dressed in the uniform of the prison, presented himself before me. “Ah, monsieur! awake and dressed already!” said he, in a gay and smiling tone, for which the place had not prepared me. “At eight we breakfast here; at nine you are free to promenade in the garden or on the terrace,--at least, all who are not _au secret_,--and I have to felicitate monsieur on that pleasure.” “How, then? I am not a prisoner?” “Yes, _parbleu!_ you are a prisoner, but not under such heavy imputation as to be confined apart. All in this quarter enjoy a fair share of liberty: live together, walk, chat, read the papers, and have an easy time of it. But you shall judge for yourself; come along with me.”