felt much oppressed with confinement and fatigue, I went
to breathe the fresh air on the terrace of the garden: after remaining
about a quarter of an hour, I was returning by a long and obscure
gallery; by a faint light which streamed from the apartment of Madame
Roland I saw M. Polidori quit the room, accompanied by the mistress of
the chamber. Being in the shadow, they did not perceive me; Madame
Roland spoke some words to the doctor, but in so low a tone I could not
catch them; the doctor's answer was given in a louder key, and consisted
only of these words: 'The day after to-morrow;' and, when Madame Roland
seemed to urge him, still in so low a voice as to prevent the words
reaching me, he replied, with singular emphasis, 'The day after
to-morrow, I tell you,--the day after to-morrow.'"

"What could those words mean?"

"What did they mean? Alas, alas, my lord, it was on the Wednesday
evening I heard M. Polidori say 'The day after to-morrow;' on the Friday
my mother was a corpse!"

"Horrible, indeed!"

"After this mournful event I was consigned to the care of a relation,
who, forgetful of the afflicted state of my mind, as well as tender age,
told me, without reserve or consideration of the consequences, what
powerful reasons there were for my hating Madame Roland, and fully
enlightened me as to the ambitious projects entertained by this woman:
full well I could then imagine all my poor mother must have endured. I
thought my heart would break the first time I again saw my father, which
was upon the occasion of his coming to fetch me from the house of my
relation to take me into Normandy, where we were to pass the first
months of our mourning. During the journey he informed me, without the
least embarrassment, and as though it had been the most natural thing in
the world, that, out of regard for himself and me, madame had kindly
consented to take the command of the establishment, and to act as my
guide and friend. On arriving at Aubiers (so was my father's estate
called), the first object we beheld was Madame Roland, who had
established herself here on the very day of my mother's death. Spite of
her modest, gentle manner, her countenance betrayed an ill-disguised
triumph; never shall I forget the look, at once ironical and spiteful,
she cast on me as I descended from the carriage; it seemed to say, 'I am
mistress here,--'tis you who are the intruder.' A fresh grief awaited
me; whether from an inexcusable want of