"Lions' Den" for any other place than the barrier Saint-Jacques, the galleys! or solitary confinement.
In the court which we have attempted to describe, and from which a damp vapor was rising, a young man might be seen walking, with his hands in his pockets, who had excited much curiosity among the inhabitants of the "Den." The cut of his clothes would have made him pass for an elegant man, if those clothes had not been torn to ribbons; still they were not worn, and the fine cloth soon recovered its gloss in the parts which were still perfect, beneath the careful hands of the prisoner, who tried to make it assume the appearance of a new coat. He bestowed the same attention upon the cambric front of a shirt, which had considerably changed in color since his entrance into the prison, and he polished his varnished boots with the corner of a handkerchief embroidered with initials surmounted by a coronet.
Some of the inmates of the "Lions' Den" were watching the operations of the prisoner's toilet with considerable interest.
"See, the prince is beautifying himself," said one of the thieves.
"He is naturally very handsome," said another; "and if he had only a comb and some pomatum, he would soon eclipse all the gentlemen in white kids."
"His coat looks nearly new, and his boots are brilliant. It is pleasant to have such well-dressed brethren; and those gendarmes behaved shamefully. What jealousy; to tear such clothes!"
"He appears to be some one of consequence," said another; "he dresses in first-rate style. And, then, to be here so young! Oh! it is splendid!"
Meanwhile the object of this hideous admiration approached the wicket, against which one of the keepers was leaning.
"Come, sir," he said, "lend me twenty francs; you will soon be paid; you run no risks with me. Remember, I have relations who possess more millions than you have deniers. Come, I beseech you, lend me twenty francs, so that I may buy a dressing-gown; it is intolerable always to be in a coat and boots! And what a coat, sir, for a prince of the Cavalcanti!"
The keeper turned his back, and shrugged his shoulders; he did not even laugh at what would have caused any one else to do so; he had heard so many utter the same things,—indeed, he heard nothing else.
"Come," said Andrea, "you are a man void of compassion; I will cause you to lose your place."
This made the keeper turn round, and he burst into a loud laugh. The prisoners then approached, and formed a circle.
"I tell you that with that wretched sum," continued Andrea, "I could
