ored him she sacrificed her attachment to what she
regarded as a lofty, even a sublime duty. She had the means to
proceed to Paris and she went by the coach. She deceived her aunt,
her father, and her sisters with the statement that she was going to
England in search of remunerative employment. She went to a hotel in
the great city which had been recommended to her in Caen.

A friend had given her a letter of recommendation to Duperret, a
Girondist deputy, by the aid of which she hoped to get into the
presence of Marat. She had arranged a plan for the assassination of
the brawling fanatic, and it was to take place at the celebration of
the anniversary of the destruction of the Bastille, July 14th, on
the Champ de Mars. She desired to do the deed as publicly as
possible, not to make it sensational, but in order to produce the
stronger impression upon the minds of the people. The postponement
of the celebration, for the suppression of the rebellion among the
Vendeans, prevented the execution of her first plan, and she then
decided to strike down her victim in his seat at the "summit of the
mountain," in the midst of the victim's accomplices. Then she
learned that Marat was confined to his lodgings by his malady. She
promptly determined to confront him in his own home.

She wrote a note to him, professing to be a sufferer at the hands of
the Girondists, asking for an appointment at his house. He made it,
but was unable to keep it. She wrote another note, and then went to
the house in the Rue de l'Ecole de Medecine, now a part of the
Boulevard St. Germain. The woman with whom Marat lived refused to
admit her, and she crowded up a short stairway. Her intended victim
heard the altercation, and suspecting it was the person who had sent
him two notes, he called out to Catherine Everard to admit her.
Charlotte had visited the Palais Royal and purchased a knife, which
was concealed in her bosom in readiness to do the deed.

Marat, though at the height of his pernicious influence, lived in
mean and squalid apartments, in a sort of pride of poverty as "the
friend of the people." In spite of his disease, which compelled him
to work in a bath, he was always busy. The room was littered with
papers and pamphlets. He was only five feet in height, with a
naturally disagreeable face, increased by his malady. At the very
time his visitor entered his den, he was making out on a board
before him a list of Girondists to be executed. She wo