The other case is as follows:[9] In Paris, in 1793, I had lodgings in the Rue Faubourg St. Denis, No. 63; they were agreeable, except for the fact that they were too remote from the Convention, of which I was a member. But this was recompensed by the lodging being also remote from the alarms and confusion into which the interior of Paris was so often thrown at this time. The house, which was enclosed by a wall and gateway from the street, was a good deal like an old mansion farmhouse, and the courtyard was stocked like a farmyard, with fowls, turkeys and geese, which for amusement we used to feed out of the window of the parlour on the ground floor. There were some hutches for rabbits, and a stye or two for pigs. Beyond was a garden of two acres, well laid out and stocked with excellent fruit-trees. The orange, the apple, the greengage and the plum were the best I ever tasted. The place had formerly been occupied by some curious person. My apartments consisted of three rooms. The first for wood, water, &c., with an old-fashioned chest high enough to hang up clothes in. The next was the bedroom, and beyond the sitting-room. At the end of the sitting-room was a glass door leading to a flight of narrow stairs, by which I could descend privately into the garden. * * * * * I went into my chamber to write and sign a certificate for them, which I intended to take into the guard-house to obtain their release. Just as I had finished it, a man came into my room dressed in the uniform of a captain, spoke to me in good English and with a good address. He told me that two young Englishmen were arrested and detained at the guard-house, and that “_the section_” had sent him to ask me if I knew them and would answer for them, and in that case they would be liberated. This matter being soon settled between us, he talked to me about the “Rights of Man,” which he had read in English, and finally took his leave in the politest and most friendly manner, _saying he was always at my service_. This man, who so civilly offered me _his service_, turned out to be Samson, the public executioner, who guillotined the King and all the political victims of the Revolution. * * * * * As for me, I used to find some relief by walking alone in the garden after it was dark, and cursing with hearty good will the authors of that terrible system which had so altered the character of that Revolution I had been so proud to defend.[10] I went but little to the Convention, and then only to show an appearance, because I found it _impossible to join in their tremendous decrees, and useless and dangerous to oppose them_. My having voted, as well as extensively spoken (more so than any member) against the execution of the King, had already fixed a mark upon me; neither dared any of my associates in the Convention translate and speak in French for me, as they formerly did when I wished to make my views publicly known.[11]