CHAPTER VIII.
BICÊTRE.A fortnight had elapsed since Sarah’s death, and it was mid-Lent Sunday. This date established, we will conduct the reader to Bicêtre, an immense building, which, though originally designed for the reception of insane persons, is equally adapted as an asylum for seven or eight hundred poor old men, who are admitted into this species of civil invalid hospital when they have reached the age of seventy years, or are afflicted with severe infirmities.
The entrance to Bicêtre is by a large court, planted with high trees, and covered in the centre by a mossy turf, intersected with flower beds duly cultivated. Nothing can be imagined more healthful, calm, or cheerful than the promenade thus devoted to the indigent old beings we have before alluded to. Around this square ar
