me a minute's peace; I have been pelted with pamphlets. . . . My silence has only increased their rage; I am Galigaï, Brinvilliers, Voisin, everything that is most monstrous, and the women of the markets intend treating me like another Lamballe.

So I send you my portrait, for I would still wish to leave something of myself to my friends. It pleases me to tell you that, with the exception of my husband, my daughter, and one other person, you are the only friend to whom I am giving it. Nobody knows of its existence, not even the general run of friends.

I cannot imagine what things will come to; but if Paris goes to ruin, the South must save us. . . . Most of our deputies only walk out now armed to the teeth. Numbers of people implore us not to stay at night at the Ministerial residence. How charming is this Parisian liberty! Well! Had you stayed in office we should not have come to this. Had the federate troops been placed under your command, you could, by discipline, have turned them into a respectable sort of support. They might have served instead of the guard, which they have not dared to levy. Pache has done nothing but disgust, annul, and send them away again. If they save us to-morrow, it will be of their own accord, and in disregard of orders.

In truth, I am weary of this world; it is not made for honest folk, and there is some reason for dislodging them from it. Farewell, brave citizen; I esteem and love you with all my heart. I shall write to you in a few days, if the storm has not engulfed us. In case it has, remember my daughter sometimes, and the pleasant plans we had formed! . . .