“I am truly delighted to hear” (he wrote some days before his arrival at Dunkirk) “that the regiment Viennois is almost of the same way of thinking as our own, so that we are sure to get on well with them. Then there _are_ still some decent Frenchmen, and some subjects who are faithful to their one and lawful master! Alas! there are not many of them, and one can only groan when one thinks how many old and hitherto courageous legions ... have stained irretrievably their ancient glory by this betrayal of their sovereign. Well, my dear fellow, we must hope that you will have some peace now to make up for all that you have been going through. Unfortunately, the immediate future does not seem likely to make us forget the past, or to promise us much happiness. If the scoundrels who are persecuting us, and ruining all the best things in Europe, take it into their heads to disband the Army (as one hears that they may), be sure to come here for refuge. Everything is still quiet here.... If their fury still pursues us, we will leave a country that has become hateful to us, and go to some foreign shore, where there will perhaps be found some kind folk to pity us and give us a home in their midst.”[18] The first hint at emigration! Frotté was already thinking of it; often he had envisaged the idea, but, before giving up all hope, he wanted to make one last effort. The proximity of Lille enabled him to keep up unbroken relations, during the summer and winter of 1790, with the officers of the garrison he had just left. A plot had even been roughly sketched out with Lady Atkyns’ assistance; but a thousand obstacles retarded from day to day any attempt at carrying it out, and once more our poor young soldier was totally discouraged. Despairing of success, disgusted with everything, he began to meditate escape from an existence which yielded him nothing but vexations, and, little by little, he ceased to brood seriously over the thought of suicide. He spoke of it openly and at length to his friend Lamberville, in a strange composition which he called _My profession of faith_, and which has been almost miraculously preserved for us.[19] This confession is dated February 20, 1791. We should have given it in its entirety if it were not so long.[20] After a quasi-philosophical preamble--Frotté was addicted to that kind of thing--he described to his friend the miserable state of mind that he was in, with all his troubles and his griefs. In his opinion, a man who had fallen to such depths of ill-fortune could do but one thing, and that was, to give back to God the life which he had received from Him.