The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. . ” They returned to the crypt. “It is a pity that as nations we are not more friendly.
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