f the
Louvre." Madame Roland caressed the affectionate animal, and, weary
of the passions of man, longed for retirement from the world, and to
seclude herself with those animals who would repay kindness with
gratitude. She sank back in her seat, exclaiming, "O that we could
escape from France, and find a home in the law-governed republic of
America."

Alighting at the Louvre, she called upon a friend, with whom she
wished to consult upon the means of effecting M. Roland's escape from
the city. He had just gone to bed, but arose, conversed about various
plans, and made an appointment to meet her at seven o'clock the next
morning. Entirely unmindful of herself, she thought only of the rescue
of her friends. Exhausted with excitement and toil, she returned to
her desolated home, bent over the sleeping form of her child, and gave
vent to a mother's gushing love in a flood of tears. Recovering her
fortitude, she sat down and wrote to M. Roland a minute account of all
her proceedings. It would have periled his safety had she attempted to
share his asylum. The gray of a dull and somber morning was just
beginning to appear as Madame Roland threw herself upon a bed for a
few moments of repose. Overwhelmed by sorrow and fatigue, she had just
fallen asleep, when a band of armed men rudely broke into her house,
and demanded to be conducted to her apartment. She knew too well the
object of the summons. The order for her arrest was presented her. She
calmly read it, and requested permission to write to a friend. The
request was granted. When the note was finished, the officer informed
her that it would be necessary for him to be made acquainted with its
contents. She quietly tore it into fragments, and cast it into the
fire. Then, imprinting her last kiss upon the cheek of her unconscious
child, with the composure which such a catastrophe would naturally
produce in so heroic a mind, she left her home for the prison. Blood
had been flowing too freely in Paris, the guillotine had been too
active in its operations, for Madame Roland to entertain any doubts
whither the path she now trod was tending.

It was early in the morning of a bleak and dismal day as Madame Roland
accompanied the officers through the hall of her dwelling, where she
had been the object of such enthusiastic admiration and affection. The
servants gathered around her, and filled the house with their
lamentations. Even the hardened soldiers were moved by the scene, an