I saw a sombre house in a sombre street. It was No. 7. I mounted a dark-looking staircase, and arrived at the second floor. Three doors opened on the landing: one of them bore an inscription:— “Le Citoyen Maximilian de Robespierre, et Deputé à l’Assemblée Nationale.” I knocked. I heard footsteps approaching the door, and then stop cautiously. “Is it you, Maximilian?” asked a voice, in which could be discerned traces of emotion. “No, mademoiselle,” I replied; “but I bring news of him.” The door was quickly opened. “Nothing has happened to him?” asked a stately female of about forty years. “Here are a few words to reassure you,” I replied. I then handed her the letter. It was too dark for her to be enabled to read it in the passage on the landing. Mademoiselle de Robespierre re-entered the apartment, inviting me to follow her. I entered a sort of dining-room, opening on a study and bed-room. All was cold, cheerless, and almost unfurnished. If not actually miserable, it was far below mediocrity. Mademoiselle Robespierre read her brother’s letter. “When my brother thinks it needless to tell me where he is, he has his reasons. You have seen him, sir?” “I have just left him, mademoiselle.” “Nothing has happened to him?” “Nothing.” “Give him my congratulations, sir, and thank for me those people who have been hospitable to him. I would that, after the long walk you have had, I could offer you refreshment; but my brother is so sober, and has such few wants, that we have naught but water in the house.” At this moment, the tramp of footsteps was heard in the corridor. A woman showed herself at the door of the dining-room, and, dimly, a man could be perceived behind her. Despite the semi-darkness, I recognised the female, and could not resist crying out, “Madame Roland!” Mademoiselle Robespierre repeated, in an accent of astonishment, “Madame Roland!” “Yes, I, myself, mademoiselle, and my husband, who, hearing that Robespierre has been threatened by his enemies, are come to offer him a shelter in our little house at the corner of the Rue Guenegaud.” “I thank you in my brother’s name, madame,” replied Mademoiselle Charlotte, with dignity. “He has already found the asylum which you so nobly offer him, and which I know not myself. Here is the gentleman who brought the news,” continued she, pointing me out to Madame Roland. “That proves, mademoiselle,” said, in his turn, the Citizen Roland, “that other citizens are more favored than we;” and remarking that he was unwilling to intrude longer on her privacy, he bowed, and departed with his wife. As my errand was fulfilled, I followed them, and returned in close conversation with them. Madame Roland was at the Jacobin Club when the paid guard made an irruption among them.