This large hall, only lighted by the doubtful daylight that comes in through the gates—­for the single window to the front court is screened by the glass office built out in front of it—­has an atmosphere and a gloom that strike the eye in perfect harmony with the pictures that force themselves on the imagination.  Its aspect is all the more sinister because, parallel with the Tours d’Argent and de Montgomery, you discover those mysterious vaulted and overwhelming crypts which lead to the cells occupied by the Queen and Madame Elizabeth, and to those known as the secret cells.  This maze of masonry, after being of old the scene of royal festivities, is now the basement of the Palais de Justice.

Between 1825 and 1832 the operation of the last toilet was performed in this enormous hall, between a large stove which heats it and the inner gate.  It is impossible even now to tread without a shudder on the paved floor that has received the shock and the confidences of so many last glances.

The apparently dying victim on this occasion could not get out of the horrible vehicle without the assistance of two gendarmes, who took him under the arms to support him, and led him half unconscious into the office.  Thus dragged along, the dying man raised his eyes to heaven in such a way as to suggest a resemblance to the Saviour taken down from the Cross.  And certainly in no picture does Jesus present a more cadaverous or tortured countenance than this of the sham Spaniard; he looked ready to breathe his last sigh.  As soon as he was seated in the office, he repeated in a weak voice the speech he had made to everybody since he was arrested: 

“I appeal to His Excellency the Spanish Ambassador.”

“You can say that to the examining judge,” replied the Governor.

“Oh Lord!” said Jacques Collin, with a sigh.  “But cannot I have a breviary!  Shall I never be allowed to see a doctor?  I have not two hours to live.”

As Carlos Herrera was to be placed in close confinement in the secret cells, it was needless to ask him whether he claimed the benefits of the pistole (as above described), that is to say, the right of having one of the rooms where the prisoner enjoys such comfort as the law permits.  These rooms are on the other side of the prison-yard, of which mention will presently be made.  The sheriff and the clerk calmly carried out the formalities of the consignment to prison.

“Monsieur,” said Jacques Collin to the Governor in broken French, “I am, as you see, a dying man.  Pray, if you can, tell that examining judge as soon as possible that I crave as a favor what a criminal must most dread, namely, to be brought before him as soon as he arrives; for my sufferings are really unbearable, and as soon as I see him the mistake will be cleared up——­”

As an universal rule every criminal talks of a mistake.  Go to the hulks and question the convicts; they are almost all victims of a miscarriage of justice.  So this speech raises a faint smile in all who come into contact with the suspected, accused, or condemned criminal.