“Once more I went on my way and turned my steps towards the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. What thoughts, what agitation, what secret terrors distracted my poor brain! I opened my heart to a friend whom I could trust, and who, speaking to me in God’s name, strengthened my courage. At his house I took some coffee, which seemed to relieve my head. “Thoughtful and irresolute, I slowly retraced my steps towards the Palais de Justice, dreading to get there, and hoping not to find those whom I was seeking. I arrived before five o’clock. There were no signs of departure. Sick at heart, I ascended the steps of the Sainte Chapelle; then I walked into the _grande salle_, and wandered about. I sat down, I rose again, but spoke to no one. From time to time I cast a melancholy glance towards the courtyard, to see if there were any signs of departure. “My constant thought was that in two hours, perhaps in one, they would be no more. I cannot say how overwhelmed I was by that idea, which has affected me through life on all such occasions, and they have only been too frequent. While a prey to these mournful feelings, never did an hour appear to me so long or so short as the one which elapsed between five and six o’clock on that day. Conflicting thoughts were incessantly crossing my mind, which made me suddenly pass from the illusions of vain hope to fears, alas! too well founded. [Illustration: SENTENCED TO THE GUILLOTINE.] “At last I saw, by a movement in the crowd, that the prison door was on the point of being opened. I went down and placed myself near the outer gate, as for the previous fortnight it had become impossible to enter the prison yard. The first cart was filled with prisoners, and came towards me. It was occupied by eight ladies, whose demeanor was most admirable. Of these, seven were unknown to me. The last, who was very near me, was the Maréchale de Noailles. A transient ray of hope crossed my mind when I saw that her daughter-in-law and her granddaughter were not with her; but alas! they were in the second cart. “Madame de Noailles was in white; she did not appear more than twenty-four years of age; Madame d’Ayen, who looked about forty, wore a dress striped blue and white. Six men got in after them. I was pleased to see the respectful distance at which the two first placed themselves so as to leave more liberty to the ladies. They were scarcely seated when the mother became the object of that tender solicitude for which her daughter was well known. “I heard it said near me, ‘Look at that young one! how anxious she seems! See how she is speaking to the other one!’ For my part I felt as if I heard all they were saying: ‘Mamma, he is not there.’ ‘Look again.’ ‘Nothing escapes me; I assure you, mamma, he is not there.’