In the fortresses, in the prisons, in the hulks, in the jails of Africa, there are thousands of prisoners.

Who are those prisoners?
We have said,--republicans, patriots, soldiers of the law, innocent men, martyrs.

Their sufferings have already been proclaimed by generous voices, and one has a glimpse of the truth.

In our special volume on the 2nd of December, it shall be our task to tear asunder the veil.

Do you wish to know what is taking place ?--Sometimes, when endurance is at an end and strength exhausted, bending beneath the weight of misery, without shoes, without bread, without clothing, without a shirt, consumed by fever, devoured by vermin, poor artisans torn from their workshops, poor husbandmen forcibly taken from the plough, weeping for a wife, a mother, children, a family widowed or orphaned, also without bread and perhaps without shelter, overdone, ill, dying, despairing,--some of these wretched beings succumb, and consent to "ask for pardon!" Then a letter is presented for their signature, all written and addressed: "To Monseigneur le Prince-President." We give publicity to this letter, as Sieur Quentin Bauchart avows it.
"I, the undersigned, declare upon my honour, that I accept _most thankfully_ the pardon offered me by Prince Louis-Napoleon, and I engage never to become a member of any secret society, to respect the law, and be _faithful_ to the Government that the country has chosen by the votes of the 20th and 21st of December, 1851." Let not the meaning of this grave performance be misunderstood.