My First Imprisonment (1886)

Sentence was pronounced, a buzz of eager conversation filled the crowded court. Friends were pressing round the dock, where we had spent so many exciting days, to say good-bye. All was movement—a feverish murmur of many voices. The long tension had given way, last words were being hurriedly exchanged—" Good-bye, good-bye, God bless you!" "I'd rather be in your place than in that of your judge"—it was Mr. Waugh who said that, although I did not know his voice at the time from other voices rising from below. "Once more, good-bye." And waving my hand to the excited throng I descended the steps, with a confused vision of horse-hair wigs, eager faces, and a patch of scarlet still lingering on my retina. Down we went, Jacques and I—Rebecca and Mdme. Mourez had preceded us—and we were prisoners...