"The jailer came one morning to the room occupied by the Duchess d'Aiguillon, two other ladies, and myself, and said that he came to remove my bed, which was to be given to another prisoner. 'Why give it away?' said the duchess eagerly: 'is, then, Madame de Beauharnais to have a better?' 'No, no; she will not need one at all,' said the wretch, with an atrocious smile; 'she is to be taken to a new lodging, and thence to the guillotine.' On hearing this, my companions shrieked aloud. I endeavored to console them. At length, wearied with their continued lamentations, I told them their grief was quite unreasonable; that not only I should not die, but that I should be queen of France. 'Why do you not at once name the persons of your household?' said Madame d'Aiguillon, with an air of resentment. 'Very true; I had quite forgotten it. Well, my dear, you shall be lady of honor; you may rely upon my promise.' The tears of the ladies now flowed afresh, for my composure made them think that my reason was affected. I assure you, however, that there was no affectation of courage on my part; I felt a conviction that the oracle would be fulfilled. Madame d'Aiguillon grew faint, and I led her towards the window, which I threw open, that she might breathe the fresh air; I suddenly caught sight of a poor woman who was making signs to us. She was laying hold of her gown at every moment--a sign which we were at a loss to understand. At length I cried out to her,' _Robe_.' She nodded in assent, and then, picking up a stone, held it up with her other hand. '_Pierre_,' I cried out. Her joy was unbounded when we understood her; and, bringing the gown close to the stone, she made quick and repeated signs of cutting her throat, and began to dance and clap her hands. This strange pantomime excited an emotion in our minds which it is impossible to describe, as we ventured to hope that it gave us the announcement of _Robespierre's_ death. "Whilst we were in this state of suspense, we heard a great noise in the passage, and the formidable voice of the keeper, who, giving a kick to his dog, said to the animal, 'Get out of the way, you d--d brute of a Robespierre.' This energetic phraseology proved to us that France was rid of her tyrant. In fact, our companions in misfortune came in soon afterwards, and gave us the details of the important event. My hammock was brought back to me, and I never enjoyed a quieter night. I fell asleep, after saying to my friends, 'You see that I am not guillotined; I shall yet be queen of France!'"