and judge of our surprise when we saw the hovellers, to a man, leap
into the boats and tear about to hoist sail and get off, as if they
had every one of 'em gone, in a moment, raving mad! But THEY knew
it was the cry of distress from the sinking emigrant ship.'

When I got back to my watering-place out of the season, and had
done my twenty miles in good style, I found that the celebrated
Black Mesmerist intended favouring the public that evening in the
Hall of the Muses, which he had engaged for the purpose. After a
good dinner, seated by the fire in an easy chair, I began to waver
in a design I had formed of waiting on the Black Mesmerist, and to
incline towards the expediency of remaining where I was. Indeed a
point of gallantry was involved in my doing so, inasmuch as I had
not left France alone, but had come from the prisons of St. Pelagie
with my distinguished and unfortunate friend Madame Roland (in two
volumes which I bought for two francs each, at the book-stall in
the Place de la Concorde, Paris, at the corner of the Rue Royale).
Deciding to pass the evening tete-a-tete with Madame Roland, I
derived, as I always do, great pleasure from that spiritual woman's
society, and the charms of her brave soul and engaging
conversation. I must confess that if she had only some more
faults, only a few more passionate failings of any kind, I might
love her better; but I am content to believe that the deficiency is
in me, and not in her. We spent some sadly interesting hours
together on this occasion, and she told me again of her cruel
discharge from the Abbaye, and of her being re-arrested before her
free feet had sprung lightly up half-a-dozen steps of her own
staircase, and carried off to the prison which she only left for
the guillotine.