"My money! And yet is is too late, for it is your fault that I am here."

"But--I--but--"

"If I go to the hulks, mark me, it is your fault; for if I had that of
which you robbed me, I should not have been under the necessity of
stealing. I should have remained honest, as I wished to be. And you will be
acquitted perhaps--they will do nothing to you. But I will do something to
you. You shall bear my marks. Ah! you wear jewels, gold chains, and you
rob. There--there--have you enough? No--here, take some more!"

"Help, help!" cried the bailiff, rolling under the feet of Frank, who
struck him furiously.

The other prisoners, very indifferent to this squabble, made a ring round
the combatants, or, rather, round the beating and the beaten, for Boulard,
panting and much alarmed, made no resistance, but endeavored to parry, as
well as he could, the blows of his adversary. Happily, the overseer ran up,
on hearing the cries, and released the bailiff from his peril. Boulard
arose, pale and trembling, with one of his large eyes bruised, and, without
giving himself time to pick up his cap, cried, as he ran toward the wicket:

"Keeper--open for me; I do not wish to remain a moment longer--help!"

"And you, for having struck the gentleman, follow me to the governor," said
the keeper, taking Frank by the collar; "you will go to the blackhole two
days for this."

"I don't care; he has got his gruel."