“‘It was thus we conversed for more than an hour, during which I learned more of Mirabeau than I had done during the many years of strict friendship in which we had lived together. I should have regretted him far less, had this confidence never taken place, for I should less have learned to estimate his stupendous intellect, and the grandeur of his mighty heart. As you may suppose, I could have listened, entranced as I was, until midnight, and was angry when Condorcet, who was of our party, came running gaily up to our bench, and seated himself beside us, with a loud exclamation of surprise at the unusual gravity of our demeanour. Of course the spell was broken at once, and the conversation became general. Soon afterwards, our two other friends joined us, and we adjourned to Robert’s, at that time the first _restaurateur_ in Paris, where we found dinner waiting. “‘The dinner was gay enough. I alone, of all the company, was sad, and spoke but little. Mirabeau, at first absorbed and pre-occupied, gradually yielding to the influence which he never could resist, that of wine and good fellowship, by degrees shook off the recollection of the colloquy we had had together so short a time before, and became as usual the light and life of the _réunion_. It would be a hopeless task to endeavour to recal one tithe of all the brilliant sayings, the startling epigrams, uttered by Mirabeau during this his last flash of existence. I had never beheld him so excited, so madly gay. He drank largely, and the wine seemed to inflame his blood until his excitement bordered on delirium. He raved—he sang—he spoke in loud harangues—he laughed fiercely at us all—at the court, at the people, at himself, in short, at everything; and our companions hailed with loud shouts and applause every _bon mot_ that he uttered. I alone could not share in this strange mirth, for I was yet shaken by the solemn foreboding, the dismal presentiment with which he had inspired me. “‘At about four o’clock in the morning, the spirit, no longer to be controlled even by the gigantic physical strength which he possessed, gave way at last. He complained that his head felt heavy, and said that the daylight, which was just beginning to peep in from the window opposite, fatigued his sight. Coffee was then proposed before we parted, and Mirabeau eagerly took a cup, which he himself poured out and sweetened. His hand trembled violently as he raised it to his lips, and he had scarcely replaced the cup upon the table when he fell forward with his head upon his hands, exclaiming, “My God! what strange new pain is this?”