ONE OF THE BEAUTIES OF THE GARDEN FETE OF BEL-AIR.
“Who would not be frightened at the idea of being led off amid insults and jeers––condemned to a two months’ voyage in the vilest company––and at the end of it be landed in a wild country to face the alternatives of slavery or a runaway into the savage swamps?”
“Plenty of work to relieve monotony––”
“They say women are scarce out there in Louisiana. Perhaps I shall get a husband, and revenge myself on the male creation that way––”
Their speculations were cut short by the entry of a squad of troopers literally dragging tiny Henriette Girard within the prison walls. Cold and unfeeling at best, these men had no sympathy with their young charge whom they naturally believed to be one of the harpies or half-wits caught in the police dragnet. They thrust her mid the crowd in the courtyard and departed. The great iron doors clanged shut. The gatekeeper turned the massive key. Henriette––without a friend in the world to appeal to––was an inmate of dread La Salpetriere!
Like a flock of magpies the imprisoned demi-mondaines, petty thieves, and grosser criminals for love or for hate, crowded around the girl, inquiring what offence had brought her amongst them.