as follows: "Surely, sir, you are not going to search these poor nuns a second time! You know how barbarously they have been used by the people of Cambray, and at present you are well assured they live in the greatest poverty, having only the small pittance which they gain by the needle to maintain them." The mayor seemed pleased with the person who spoke, and after a short pause turned off, called the guard out of the apartment, and soon after left the prison, attended by the administrators of the district, &c.
This was one of the most suffering days we ever passed, though at that time we experienced many. The prisoners from this time were treated with still greater rigour than ever, and were now reduced to the utmost distress. Some passed days and weeks with no other food than bread and water, and few entertained even a hope of escaping public execution, yet this seemed to have little or no effect on the morals of many. They were for the most part very ill livers, though few days passed but one or other was taken out of the Compiègne prison to be thrown into the dungeon, there to be ready for execution, and there some remained till the death of Robespierre; others were taken out of prison and an end put to their existence by the fatal guillotine. About the middle of June 1794 sixteen Carmelite nuns were brought to Compiègne and lodged in a room which faced ours; they had not been long there before they were hurried off to Paris, without any previous notice, for no other crime than that an emigrant priest, who had been their chaplain, had written to them and made mention of a bishop, who was also an emigrant, desiring compliments to an elderly gentleman who was cousin to one of the community. This person unfortunately possessed considerable property, a crime not easily overlooked in those days. This venerable man was also conducted to
