r hand. '_Pierre_,' I cried out. Her joy was unbounded when
we understood her; and, bringing the gown close to the stone, she
made quick and repeated signs of cutting her throat, and began to
dance and clap her hands. This strange pantomime excited an emotion
in our minds which it is impossible to describe, as we ventured to
hope that it gave us the announcement of _Robespierre's_ death.

"Whilst we were in this state of suspense, we heard a great noise in
the passage, and the formidable voice of the keeper, who, giving a
kick to his dog, said to the animal, 'Get out of the way, you d--d
brute of a Robespierre.' This energetic phraseology proved to us that
France was rid of her tyrant. In fact, our companions in misfortune
came in soon afterwards, and gave us the details of the important
event. My hammock was brought back to me, and I never enjoyed a
quieter night. I fell asleep, after saying to my friends, 'You see
that I am not guillotined; I shall yet be queen of France!'"

Notwithstanding this confidence, Josephine had devoted a portion of
her last day to writing a last farewell to her children. Here are
extracts from it: "My children, your father is dead, and your mother
is about to follow him; but as, before that final stroke, the
assassins leave me a few moments to myself, I wish to employ them in
writing to you. Socrates, when condemned, philosophized with his
disciples; a mother, on the point of undergoing a similar fate, may
discourse with her children. My last sigh will be for you, and I wish
to make my last words a lasting lesson. Time was, when I gave you
lessons in a more pleasing way; but the present will not be the less
useful, that it is given at so serious a moment. I have the weakness
to water it with my tears; I shall soon have the courage to seal it
with my blood. * * * I am about to die as your father died, a victim
of the fury he always opposed, but to which he fell a sacrifice. I
leave life without hatred of France and its assassins; but I am
penetrated with sorrow for the misfortunes of my country. Honor my
memory in sharing my sentiments. I leave for your inheritance the
glory of your father, and the name of your mother, whom some who have
been unfortunate will bear in remembrance." In more prosperous days,
the poor and the distressed had ever found Josephine's heart and hand
open for their relief. She was now herself obliged to rely upon the
benevolence of others for her own subsistence, and