er bears the marks of our
imprisonment. Accept, my dear Vicomte, my sentiments of attachment
and veneration.

"I have the honour to be,

"Your very humble servant,

"De Combray.

"I shall go to your mother's to await the King's passing, if I
obtain my liberty before his arrival, and I shall have to go to
Tournebut in order to have everything repaired and made ready if I
am to enjoy this favour. You will write, and wait impatiently."

The most heartrending of the letters despatched by the duped old
royalist in her joy, is the one destined for the King himself. Proud of
his stratagem, Licquet forwarded it to the police authorities, who
retained it. It is written in a thick, masculine hand on large
paper--studied, almost solemn at the beginning, then, with the
outpouring of her thoughts, ending in an almost illegible scribble. One
feels that the poor woman wanted to say everything, to empty her heart,
to free herself of eighteen years of mortification, mourning and
suppressed indignation. The following is the text of the letter, almost
complete:

"_To His Majesty Louis XVIII._

"Sire:--From my prison, where at the age of sixty-six, I
as well as my son, have been thrust for the last four months, we
have the happiness of offering you our respects and congratulations
on your happy accession to your throne. All our wishes are
fulfilled, sire....

"The few resources still at our command were devoted to supporting
your faithful servants of every class, and in saving them from
execution. I have to regret the loss of the Chevalier de
Margadelle, Raoulle, Tamerlan and the young Tellier, all of whom
were carried away by their zeal for your Majesty's cause and fell
victims to it at Paris and Versailles. I had hired a house, which I
gave up to them with all the hiding-places necessary for their
safety. My son had the good fortune to be under the orders of
Messieurs de Frotte and Ingant de St. Maur.

"I am sending my letter to M. le Vicomte d'Ache, in order that he
may present it to your Majesty and solicit a favour very dear to my
heart--that you will condescend to stay at my house on your way to
Paris. Sire, you will find my house open, and, they say, surrounded
with barricades,