he repulsive prison fare, and, after
breakfast, was permitted to write a letter to the National Assembly
upon her illegal arrest. Thus passed the day.

At ten o'clock in the evening, her cell being prepared, she entered it
for the first time. It was a cold, bare room, with walls blackened by
the dust and damp of ages. There was a small fire-place in the room,
and a narrow window, with a double iron grating, which admitted but a
dim twilight even at noon day. In one corner there was a pallet of
straw. The chill night air crept in at the unglazed window, and the
dismal tolling of the tocsin proclaimed that the metropolis was still
the scene of tumult and of violence. Madame Roland threw herself upon
her humble bed, and was so overpowered by fatigue and exhaustion that
she woke not from her dreamless slumber until twelve o'clock of the
next day.

Eudora, who had been left by her mother in the care of weeping
domestics, was taken by a friend, and watched over and protected with
maternal care. Though Madame Roland never saw her idolized child
again, her heart was comforted in the prison by the assurance that she
had found a home with those who, for her mother's sake, would love
and cherish her.

The tidings of the arrest and imprisonment of Madame Roland soon
reached the ears of her unfortunate husband in his retreat. His
embarrassment was most agonizing. To remain and participate in her
doom, whatever that doom might be, would only diminish her chances of
escape and magnify her peril; and yet it seemed not magnanimous to
abandon his noble wife to encounter her merciless foes alone. The
triumphant Jacobins were now, with the eagerness of blood-hounds,
searching every nook and corner in Paris, to drag the fallen minister
from his concealment. It soon became evident that no dark hiding-place
in the metropolis could long conceal him from the vigilant search
which was commenced, and that he must seek safety in precipitate
flight. His friends obtained for him the tattered garb of a peasant.
In a dark night, alone and trembling, he stole from his retreat, and
commenced a journey on foot, by a circuitous and unfrequented route,
to gain the frontiers of Switzerland. He hoped to find a temporary
refuge by burying himself among the lonely passes of the Alps. A man
can _face_ his foes with a spirit undaunted and unyielding, but he
can not _fly from them_ without trembling as he looks behind. For two
or three days, with blistered fe