It seems that the room which Madame de Fauveau’s mother shared with several other lady prisoners had but one window, heavily barred, through which you could see, only by climbing up on a ledge, and straining your neck to look out; but here so slight a communication with the outer world was eagerly sought after by the poor captives, who would daily take it in turn to mount the window-seat. One day it was the turn of Madame de Fauveau’s mother, and her attention was attracted by seeing an old woman in the street make her all sorts of mysterious signs; it was evident she had something of importance to impart. She first made manifold gestures and gesticulations, then taking up her own gown in her hands, and shaking it and pointing to it several times, she proceeded to pick up a stone from the ground, deliberately drew her hand across her throat, and bowed her head, as if to designate the guillotine. Can you not believe with what alacrity the happy prisoner jumped down from the window, and communicated the joyful news to her fellow-captives, in a cautious whisper, however, “Robespierre est mort!” which meant for all in that room life and freedom? Madame de Fauveau was a witty, kind-hearted woman, and a hero-worshipper, and the hero, or rather heroine, she worshipped was her own daughter, Félicie, who was well worthy of all the incense offered her. Félicie, some years before I knew her, had attached herself to the fortunes of the Duchesse de Berri, and had been the fast friend and comrade-in-arms of the brave and noble Madame de la Roche-Jacquelin, Princesse de Talmont. This lady had emulated the example of her ancestor, in the first rising of la Vendée, by animating her retainers, and raising, as far as I remember, a regiment, which she herself commanded, to uphold the fortunes of their legitimate King, Henri V., in the same locality, so much so that, with a similarity of name and country, the heroines of the two risings have frequently been confounded, and the dates and heroines confused. As I only heard the account of this short campaign from Félicie herself, my allusion to it is naturally vague, but I know that those two friends endured great hardships and dangers in each other’s company, and when the little band of loyalists was dispersed, and the cause lost, they wandered about, suffering from hunger and fatigue, often hiding themselves in dry ditches by day, and continuing their flight by night, till at length they were compelled to separate for a better chance of safety. Félicie was taken, and the tattered colours of the Vendéens found under her uniform. She was imprisoned, her captors believing that they had arrested Madame de la Roche-Jacquelin, an error which the faithful friend did not contradict. On coming out from captivity, Félicie was banished from France, together with her mother and the whole family. The little fortune they possessed was confiscated, and thus it came about that they settled in Florence.