She saw the people in the square of Louis XV; she struck her breast three times and murmured: “It is my fault!” But this Christian resignation abandoned her when she mounted the scaffold--there where the statue of Louis XV had been--and she implored of the executioner: “One moment, Mr. Executioner! One moment more!” But the executioner was pitiless Sanson. It was block and the knife--without the “one moment!” Such was the last bed of the Du Barry. Had the almanac of Liège only predicted to her that the one who would lead her to her bed for the last time would not be a King but a citizen executioner, it might have been--but why moralize? Robert Arnot _To the Reader_ _As the early part of Madame du Barry’s career had little to differentiate it from the life of an ordinary courtezan, the editor has deemed it best to confine the memoirs to the years in her life which helped to make history._ _--Editor*_ * “Editor here means the author, who is assuming the persona of the editor of the Comtesse’s memoirs. CHAPTER I Letter from Lebel--Visit from Lebel--Nothing conclusive-- Another visit from Lebel--Invitation to sup with the king-- Instructions of the comte Jean to the comtesse One morning comte Jean entered my apartment, his face beaming with delight. “Read,” said he, giving me a letter, “read, Jeannette: victory is ours. News from Morand. Lebel is coming to Paris, and will dine with us. Are we alone?” “No, there are two of your countrymen whom you invited yesterday.” “I will write and put them off. Morand alone must dine with Lebel; he ought to have a place at the feast which he furnishes with such good music. Come, my dear girl, we touch the moment of importance, it is in your beauty and power of pleasing that I place all my hopes. I think I may rely on you; but, above all, do not forget that you are my sister-in-law.” “Brother-in-law,” said I, laughing, “it is not unnecessary that I should know decidedly to which of family I am married? The custom in France is not that a woman be the undivided property of three brothers.” “That only happens in Venice,” replied the comte; “my brother Elie is too young, you must be the wife of Guillaume, my second brother.” “Very well; I am the comtesse Guillaume du Barry; that does famously well; we like to know whom we are married to.” After this conversation, comte Jean insisted on presiding at my toilette. He acquitted himself of the task, with a most laughable attention. During two good hours, at least, he tormented first Henriette, and then the female hairdresser, for I had not yet followed the mode, which began to be very general, of having my hair dressed by a man. Comte Jean passed alternately from my dressing-room to the kitchen. He knew Lebel was a gallant and a gourmand, and he was anxious to please him in all senses at once.