M. Baze’s clothes had been taken to him, and he had dressed.  When the “domiciliary visit” was over, he was taken out of the guard-house.  There was a fiacre in the courtyard, into which he entered, together with the three sergents de ville.  The vehicle, in order to reach the Presidency door, passed by the Cour d’Honneur and then by the Courde Canonis.  Day was breaking.  M. Baze looked into the courtyard to see if the cannon were still there.  He saw the ammunition wagons ranged in order with their shafts raised, but the places of the six cannon and the two mortars were vacant.

In the avenue of the Presidency the fiacre stopped for a moment.  Two lines of soldiers, standing at ease, lined the footpaths of the avenue.  At the foot of a tree were grouped three men:  Colonel Espinasse, whom M. Baze knew and recognized, a species of Lieutenant-Colonel, who wore a black and orange ribbon round his neck, and a Major of Lancers, all three sword in hand, consulting together.  The windows of the fiacre were closed; M. Baze wished to lower them to appeal to these men; the sergents de ville seized his arms.  The Commissary Primorin then came up, and was about to re-enter the little chariot for two persons which had brought him.

“Monsieur Baze,” said he, with that villainous kind of courtesy which the agents of the coup d’etat willingly blended with their crime, “you must be uncomfortable with those three men in the fiacre.  You are cramped; come in with me.”

“Let me alone,” said the prisoner.  “With these three men I am cramped; with you I should be contaminated.”

An escort of infantry was ranged on both sides of the fiacre.  Colonel Espinasse called to the coachman, “Drive slowly by the Quai d’Orsay until you meet a cavalry escort.  When the cavalry shall have assumed the charge, the infantry can come back.”  They set out.

As the fiacre turned into the Quai d’Orsay a picket of the 7th Lancers arrived at full speed.  It was the escort:  the troopers surrounded the fiacre, and the whole galloped off.

No incident occurred during the journey.  Here and there, at the noise of the horses’ hoofs, windows were opened and heads put forth; and the prisoner, who had at length succeeded in lowering a window heard startled voices saying, “What is the matter?”

The fiacre stopped.  “Where are we?” asked M. Baze.

“At Mazas,” said a sergent de ville.

The Questor was taken to the office of the prison.  Just as he entered he saw Baune and Nadaud being brought out.  There was a table in the centre, at which Commissary Primorin, who had followed the fiacre in his chariot, had just seated himself.  While the Commissary was writing, M. Baze noticed on the table a paper which was evidently a jail register, on which were these names, written in the following order:  Lamoriciere, Charras, Cavaignac, Changarnier, Leflo, Thiers, Bedeau, Roger (du Nord), Chambolle.  This was probably the order in which the Representatives had arrived at the prison.