r two or three hours. A crowd of
petitioners throng the bar. Noise, and confusion, and violence fill
the House."

Madame Roland paused for a moment, and replied, "I must then hasten
home, and ascertain what has become of my husband. I will immediately
return. Tell our friends so."

Vergniaud sadly pressed her hand, as if for a last farewell, and
returned, invigorated by her courage, to encounter the storm which was
hailed upon him in the Assembly. She hastened to her dwelling, and
found that her husband had succeeded in eluding the surveillance of
his guards, and, escaping by a back passage, had taken refuge in the
house of a friend. After a short search she found him in his asylum,
and, too deeply moved to weep, threw herself into his arms, informed
him of what she had done, rejoiced at his safety, and heroically
returned to the Convention, resolved, if possible, to obtain admission
there. It was now near midnight. The streets were brilliant with
illuminations; but Madame Roland knew not of which party these
illuminations celebrated the triumph.

On her arrival at the court of the Tuileries, which had so recently
been thronged by a mob of forty thousand men, she found it silent and
deserted. The sitting was ended. The members, accompanied by the
populace with whom they had fraternized, were traversing the streets.
A few sentinels stood shivering in the cold and drizzling rain around
the doors of the national palace. A group of rough-looking men were
gathered before a cannon. Madame Roland approached them.

"Citizens," inquired she, "has every thing gone well to-night?"

"Oh! wonderfully well," was the reply. "The deputies and the people
embraced, and sung the Marseilles Hymn, there, under the tree of
liberty."

"And what has become of the twenty-two Girondists?"

"They are all to be arrested."

Madame Roland was almost stunned by the blow. Hastily crossing the
court, she arrived at her hackney-coach. A very pretty dog, which had
lost its master, followed her. "Is the poor little creature yours?"
inquired the coachman. The tones of kindness with which he spoke
called up the first tears which had moistened the eyes of Madame
Roland that eventful night.

"I should like him for my little boy," said the coachman.

Madame Roland, gratified to have, at such an hour, for a driver, a
father and a man of feeling, said, "Put him into the coach, and I will
take care of him for you. Drive immediately to the galleries o