She returned home. Roland was safe--she resolved to remain and await the event, indifferent to her own fate. Since the resignation of Roland she had lived in great retirement. There is a belief, more a tradition than an asserted fact, that this noble-hearted woman, whose soul was devoted to the fulfilment of her duties, to whom life was matter of indifference compared to her affections and her sense of virtue, had felt for the first time, now in mature life, the agitations and misery of passion. It is supposed that Barbaroux, deputy from the commune of Marseilles, was the object of her attachment,--Barbaroux, who was called. Antinöus from his beauty: he was full of courage, ardour, and those republican dreams so dear to madame Roland. In her portraits of various chiefs of the revolution, she says of him that he was active, laborious, frank, and brave, with all the vivacity of a Marsellais: full of attachment to freedom, and proud of the revolution, he was one of those whom an enlightened party would wish to attach, and who would have enjoyed great reputation in a republic. She adds that when Roland resigned they saw more of him: his open character and ardent patriotism inspired them with confidence. No word she writes shows that he was regarded by her in any light except that of her friend; but, in other portions of her memoirs, she alludes darkly to the struggles of love; and it is evident that her project of retiring into the country originated in her resolution to conquer her own heart. And now this passion was there, with its hopelessness and misery, to elevate her far above fear of prison or death. Emissaries came to inquire vainly for Roland. Disappointed in their purpose they left a sentinel at her door. She at last retired to rest; but, after an hour's sleep, she was awakened by her servant who announced that the officers of the section demanded to see her. She guessed at once their errand, nor was she deceived. For a moment she deliberated whether she should resist an arrest, which, as being made in the night, was illegal. But she saw that would be useless. Seals were put on her effects: the house was filled by above 100 men. At seven o'clock she left her home, amidst the tears and cries of her child and servants. Outside she was hailed by the sanguinary cries of the mob. "Do you wish the windows to be closed," said one of the men seated beside her in the carriage. "No, gentlemen," she replied; "innocence, however oppressed, will never assume the appearance of guilt. I fear the eyes of no one, and will not hide myself." "You have more firmness than most men," replied her guard.