La Valette’s escape from the Conciergerie spread fear and dismay among the adherents of Louis XVIII. No one went to bed that night in the Tuileries. Reports were circulated that a vast conspiracy had been formed, and the escape was to be a signal for the storm to burst. Some time elapsed before the alarm was given from within the prison. The warder attendant had entered the prisoner’s room as usual, but, deceived by the noise made behind the screen, had again withdrawn, to return five minutes later and make closer investigation. He saw Madame de La Valette standing there alone, and the truth broke in upon him. He turned to run out, but the devoted wife clung to him crying, “Wait, wait, give my husband time, let him get further away.” “Leave go, leave go,” he replied, roughly shaking her off, “I am a lost man;” and he rushed away shouting, “He is gone; the prisoner has escaped!” Dismay and confusion prevailed on all sides. Gaolers, attendants and gensdarmes ran here and there. One or two hurried after the sedan chair, which was still in sight, jogging along the quay, and fell upon it savagely. It was empty, as we know, and his carriage had already removed the fugitive to a distance. A certain calm now fell upon the bewildered keepers, and more systematic pursuit was organised. Visits were forthwith paid to all La Valette’s friends and acquaintances. Orders were issued to close and watch the barriers, hand-bills were hastily printed, giving particulars of the escape. For half an hour Madame de La Valette was consumed with the liveliest anxiety, but as her husband was not brought back she was satisfied he had not been recaptured. But her situation was painful in the extreme, for the gaolers bitterly reproached her, using threats and curses. Then a high official appeared upon the scene, and, interrogating her rudely, upbraided her angrily for the part she had played. She was plainly told not to look for release and was committed to a room, which she knew had been Marshal Ney’s last resting-place, and was full of the saddest memories. Directly under her windows was the courtyard of the female prison, and she was within earshot of the conversation of the lowest of her own sex. There they kept her in the strictest seclusion, her lady’s maid was not permitted to join her, and she was waited upon by one of the female gaolers. She was not allowed to write or receive letters, or see visitors. Not a syllable of news reached her, and she was left in such increasing anxiety and agitation of mind that she did not sleep for nearly three weeks. La Valette’s little daughter had been received into a convent, where she was not unkindly treated, although the mothers of other inmates objected to their association with the child of a condemned and prosecuted man.