“As soon as this order was known, every one abandoned the unhappy American. No one spoke to him. People avoided saluting him, and every door was shut against him. All those by whom but yesterday he had been eagerly welcomed, now fled from him as if he had been inflicted by a plague. No advocate would take charge of his cause, and at last even his servants would not continue in his service. And Paul Jones, whose exploits every one had so recently been so ready to proclaim, and whose friendship had been sought after, found himself alone, in the midst of an immense population. Petersburg, a great capital, became to him a desert. He was moved even to tears at my visit. “‘I was unwilling,’ he said to me, shaking me by the hand, ‘to knock at your door, and to expose myself to a fresh affront, which would have been more cutting than all the rest. I have braved death a thousand times, now I wish for it.’ “His appearance, his arms being laid upon the table, made me suspect some desperate intention. I said to him: “‘Resume your composure and your courage. Do you not know that human life, like the sea, has its storms, and that fortune is even more capricious than the winds? If, as I hope, you are innocent, brave this sudden tempest. If unhappily you are guilty, confess it to me with unreserved frankness, and I will do everything I can to snatch you by a sudden flight from the danger which threatens you.’ “He replied, ‘I am ready to take my most solemn oath, and upon my honor, that I am innocent, and a victim of the most infamous calumny. This is the truth. Some days ago a young girl came to me in the morning to ask me if I could give her some linen or lace to mend. She then indulged in some rather earnest and indecent allurements. Astonished at so much boldness in one of such few years, I felt compassion for her. I advised her not to enter upon so vile a career, gave her some money, and dismissed her. But she was determined to remain. Impatient at this resistance, I took her by the hand and led her to the door. But at the instant when the door was opened, the little profligate tore her sleeves and neckerchief, raised great cries, complained that I had assaulted her, and threw herself into the arms of an old woman whom she called her mother, and who certainly was not brought there by chance.’ “‘Very well,’ said I, ‘but cannot you learn the names of these adventurers?’ “‘The porter knows them,’ he replied. ‘Here are their names written down, but I do not know where they live. I was desirous of immediately presenting a memorial about this ridiculous affair, first to the minister and then to the empress. But I have been interdicted from access to both of them.’ “‘Give me the paper,’ I said. ‘Resume your accustomed firmness. Be comforted. In a short time we shall meet again.’”