s friend, Henriette Cannet, one day obtained access
to her prison, and, in the exercise of that romantic friendship of
which this world can present but few parallels, urged Madame Roland to
exchange garments with her, and thus escape from prison and the
scaffold. "If you remain," said Henriette, "your death is inevitable.
If I remain in your place, they will not take my life, but, after a
short imprisonment, I shall be liberated. None fear me, and I am too
obscure to attract attention in these troubled times. I," she
continued, "am a widow, and childless. There are no responsibilities
which claim my time. You have a husband, advanced in years, and a
lovely little child, both needing your utmost care." Thus she pleaded
with her to exchange attire, and endeavor to escape. But neither
prayers nor tears availed. "They would kill thee, my good Henriette!"
exclaimed Madame Roland, embracing her friend with tears of emotion.
"Thy blood would ever rest on me. Sooner would I suffer a thousand
deaths than reproach myself with thine." Henriette, finding all her
entreaties in vain, sadly bade her adieu, and was never permitted to
see her more.

Robespierre was now in the zenith of his power. He was the arbiter of
life and death. One word from him would restore Madame Roland to
liberty. But he had steeled his heart against every sentiment of
humanity, and was not willing to deprive the guillotine of a single
victim. One day Madame Roland was lying sick in the infirmary of the
prison. A physician attended her, who styled himself the friend of
Robespierre. The mention of his name recalled to her remembrance their
early friendship, and her own exertions to save his life when it was
in imminent peril. This suggested to her the idea of writing to him.
She obeyed the impulse, and wrote as follows:

"Robespierre! I am about to put you to the proof, and to repeat
to you what I said respecting your character to the friend who
has undertaken to deliver this letter. You may be very sure that
it is no suppliant who addresses you. I never asked a favor yet
of any human being, and it is not from the depths of a prison I
would supplicate him who could, if he pleased, restore me to
liberty. No! prayers and entreaties belong to the guilty or to
slaves. Neither would murmurs or complaints accord with my
nature. I know how to bear all. I also well know that at the
beginning of every republic the revo