ch the daughter of the
engraver, in solitude, communed with her books, to be the mistress of
a palace of aristocratic grandeur, and the associate of statesmen and
princes.

When M. Roland made his first appearance at court as the minister of
his royal master, instead of arraying himself in the court-dress which
the customs of the times required, he affected, in his costume, the
simplicity of his principles. He wished to appear in his exalted
station still the man of the people. He had not forgotten the
impression produced in France by Franklin, as in the most republican
simplicity of dress he moved among the glittering throng at
Versailles. He accordingly presented himself at the Tuileries in a
plain black coat, with a round hat, and dusty shoes fastened with
ribbons instead of buckles. The courtiers were indignant. The king was
highly displeased at what he considered an act of disrespect. The
master of ceremonies was in consternation, and exclaimed with a look
of horror to General Damuriez, "My dear sir, he has not even buckles
in his shoes!" "Mercy upon us!" exclaimed the old general, with the
most laughable expression of affected gravity, "we shall then all go
to ruin together!"

The king, however, soon forgot the neglect of etiquette in the
momentous questions which were pressing upon his attention. He felt
the importance of securing the confidence and good will of his
ministers, and he approached them with the utmost affability and
conciliation. M. Roland returned from his first interview with the
monarch quite enchanted with his excellent disposition and his
patriotic spirit. He assured his wife that the community had formed a
totally erroneous estimate of the king; that he was sincerely a friend
to the reforms which were taking place, and was a hearty supporter of
the Constitution which had been apparently forced upon him. The prompt
reply of Madame Roland displayed even more than her characteristic
sagacity. "If Louis is sincerely a friend of the Constitution, he must
be virtuous beyond the common race of mortals. Mistrust your own
virtue, M. Roland. You are only an honest countryman wandering amid a
crowd of courtiers--virtue in danger amid a myriad of vices. They
speak our language; we do not know theirs. No! Louis _can not_ love
the chains that fetter him. He may feign to caress them. He thinks
only of how he can spurn them. Fallen greatness loves not its
decadence. No man likes his humiliation. Trust in h