scenes of the French
revolution. Knowing the warmth of his political feelings, she
trembled for his safety; her past resentment vanished. She sought a
reconciliation, which he most cordially desired.

Passing onward in our story, we find Madame de Beauharnais a widow and
a prisoner. Her husband, after filling the offices of president of the
Convention, and general-in-chief of the army of the Rhine, had, during
the reign of terror, perished on the scaffold. On the same day on
which this event was communicated to her, she received an intimation
to prepare herself for death. But she had found a new source of
strength. Her mind, in reverting to past scenes dwelt upon the almost
forgotten prophecy of the negress. Her imagination was excited; it
began to appear less and less absurd to her, and finally terminated in
her almost certain belief. The following relation was made by herself
at Navarre:--

"The jailer came one morning to the room occupied by the Duchess
d'Aiguillon, two other ladies, and myself, and said that he came to
remove my bed, which was to be given to another prisoner. 'Why give it
away?' said the duchess eagerly: 'is, then, Madame de Beauharnais to
have a better?' 'No, no; she will not need one at all,' said the
wretch, with an atrocious smile; 'she is to be taken to a new
lodging, and thence to the guillotine.' On hearing this, my companions
shrieked aloud. I endeavored to console them. At length, wearied
with their continued lamentations, I told them their grief was
quite unreasonable; that not only I should not die, but that I should
be queen of France. 'Why do you not at once name the persons of your
household?' said Madame d'Aiguillon, with an air of resentment.
'Very true; I had quite forgotten it. Well, my dear, you shall be lady
of honor; you may rely upon my promise.' The tears of the ladies
now flowed afresh, for my composure made them think that my reason was
affected. I assure you, however, that there was no affectation of
courage on my part; I felt a conviction that the oracle would be
fulfilled. Madame d'Aiguillon grew faint, and I led her towards the
window, which I threw open, that she might breathe the fresh air;
I suddenly caught sight of a poor woman who was making signs to us.
She was laying hold of her gown at every moment--a sign which we were
at a loss to understand. At length I cried out to her,' _Robe_.' She
nodded in assent, and then, picking up a stone, held it up with
her othe