“Although I had long been prepared for this news, I was greatly shocked. The frightful situation of the parents, of the children, of their worthy tutor, that youthful mirth so soon to be followed by such misery, poor little Euphémie, then only four years old,—all these thoughts rushed upon my mind. But I soon recovered myself, and after a few questions and answers full of mournful details, I said to M. Grellet, ‘You must go now, and I must change my dress. What a task I have before me! pray that God may give me strength to accomplish it.’
“We rose, and found the children innocently amusing themselves, looking gay and happy. The sight of them, the thought of their unconsciousness of what they were so soon to learn, and of the interview which would follow with their little sister, rendered the contrast more striking, and almost broke my heart.
“Left alone after their departure, I felt terrified and exhausted. ‘My God, have pity on them and on me!’ I exclaimed. I changed my clothes and went to two or three places. With a heavy load on my heart, I turned my steps towards the Palais de Justice, between one and two o’clock in the afternoon. I tried to get in, but found it impossible. I made inquiries of a person who had just left the tribunal. I still doubted the truth of the news which had been told me. But the answer destroyed all illusion and all hope; I could doubt no longer.
“Once more I went on my way and turned my steps towards the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. What thoughts, what agitation, what secret terrors distracted my poor brain! I opened my heart to a friend whom I could trust, and who, speaking to me in God’s name, strengthened my courage. At his house I took some coffee, which seemed to relieve my head.
“Thoughtful and irresolute, I slowly retraced my steps towards the Palais de Justice, dreading to get there, and hoping not to find those whom I was seeking. I arrived before five o’clock. There were no signs of departure. Sick at heart, I ascended the steps of the Sainte Chapelle; then I walked into the grande salle, and wandered about. I sat down, I rose again, but spoke to no one. From time to time I cast a melancholy glance towards the courtyard, to see if there were any signs of departure.
“My constant thought was that in two hours, perhaps in one, they would be no more. I cannot say how overwhelmed I was by that idea, which has affected me through life on all such occasions, and they have only been too frequent. While a prey to these mournful feelings, never did an hour appear to me so long or so short as the one which elapsed between five and six o’clock on that day. Conflicting thoughts were incessantly crossing my mind, which made me suddenly pass from the illusions of vain hope to fears, alas! too well founded.
SENTENCED TO THE GUILLOTINE.
“At last I saw, by a movement in the crowd, that the prison door was on the point of being opened. I went down and placed myself near the outer gate, as for the previous fortnight it had become impossible to enter the prison yard. The first cart was filled with prisoners, and came towards me. It was occupied by eight ladies, whose demeanor was most admirable. Of these, seven were unknown to me. The last, who was very near me, was the Maréchale de Noailles. A transient ray of hope crossed my mind when I saw that her daughter-in-law and her granddaughter were not with her; but alas! they were in the second cart.
“Madame de Noailles was in white; she did not appear more than twenty-four years of age; Madame d’Ayen, who looked about forty, wore a dress striped blue and white. Six men got in after them. I was pleased to see the respectful distance at which the two first placed themselves so as to leave more liberty to the ladies. They were scarcely seated when the mother became the object of that tender solicitude for which her daughter was well known.