Often, in the midst of an acrimonious political discussion, after vainly trying to restore good humour, she would cast a sad look at me:—this look was a balm to my heart; it seemed to say, "Ourika, you alone can sympathise with me."

The negroes' right to liberty next began to be debated; and I, of course, felt deeply interested in the question. One of my remaining illusions was, that at least I had countrymen in another land, and knowing them to be unhappy, I believed them virtuous, and pitied their fate. Alas! here again I was undeceived. The massacre of St. Domingo added fresh grief to my soul; and to my despair at belonging to a proscribed race was added shame at their being likewise a race of barbarians.

The revolution having soon made rapid progress, and the most violent men getting into power, inspired the greatest terror by their utter disregard of the laws of justice. The horrid days of the twentieth of June and tenth of August prepared for every other event. The greater number of Madame de B.'s friends fled at this epoch; some sought shelter abroad, others in the provinces or in secret retreats; but she remained. The constant occupation of her heart fixed her to home.

We had been living for some months in solitude, when towards the latter end of the year 1792, the decree for the confiscation of the emigrants' estates was issued. In the midst of such great disasters, Madame de B. would have cared little for the loss of her fortune, had it not belonged to her grandchildren; for by a family arrangement, she had only the enjoyment of it during her lifetime. This made her decide upon sending for Charles home, whilst his eldest brother, then nearly one and twenty, went to join the army of the Prince of Condé. Their travels were just completed, which two years before had been undertaken under such different auspices. Charles arrived in Paris, in the beginning of February, 1793, a short time after the King's death. Madame de B. had given herself up to the most poignant grief, at the perpetration of this deed. Her feeling mind proportioned its horror to the immensity of the crime. Affliction in old age is a most moving spectacle, it carries with it the authority of reason. Madame de B. suffered with such energy, that it affected her health, and I did not conceive it possible to console her, but I mingled my tears with hers, and sought by elevating my own sentiments, to ally my soul more nearly to hers, so that I might at least share her sufferings. My own distress scarcely occurred to me while the reign of terror lasted. I should have felt ashamed to think of it during such dreadful calamities. Besides, I no longer felt so isolated, since every person round me was unhappy. Opinion is like the link of country, it is the property of all, and men are brothers to defend its cause. Sometimes I thought, that poor negress as I was, still I was allied to noble minds, by the same need of justice that I experienced in common with them. The return of truth and justice to their country, would be a day of triumph for me as well as for them; but, alas! it was far distant.

On Charles's return, Madame de B. went into the country. All her friends had fled. The only society she had left, was that of an old Abbé, who for ten years had turned religion into ridicule, but was now highly irritated at the riches of the clergy being confiscated, because he lost twenty thousand francs a year by it. He accompanied us to St. Germain. His company was rather quiet than agreeable, and was more the result of his disposition than of his heart.

Madame de B. had had it in her power all her life to do good. She was intimately, acquainted with the Count de Choiseul, and during his long ministry, was useful to a number of persons. Two of the most popular men during the terror, owed obligations to her, and remembered it in those dreadful times. They watched over her preservation, and risqued their own lives to save hers from the fury of the revolutionary assassins; and it may here be remarked, that at this fatal epoch even the chiefs of the most violent factions ran great danger in doing a little good. It seemed as if our desolate land was only to be governed by evil, for that alone took away or gave power. Madame de B. was not sent to prison. She was guarded at home under pretext of bad health. Charles, the Abbé, and myself remained with her, and attended her with care.

Nothing can equal the state of anxiety and terror in which we passed our days: continually reading in the papers accounts of the sentences of death passed against Madame de B.'s friends, and trembling lest her protector should be deprived of the power of preserving her from a similar fate. We discovered, indeed, that she was on the eve of perishing, when the death of Robespierre put an end to so much horror. We breathed again. The guards left our house, and we all remained in the same solitude, like people who have escaped some great calamity together. Misfortune seemed to have linked us closer to each other. I felt in those moments that I was not a stranger. If I ever passed a few happy moments since the fairy days of my childhood, it was during the times that followed this disastrous epoch. Madame de B. possessed to a supreme degree those qualities which constitute the charm of domestic life; her temper was easy and indulgent; she always put the most favourable construction upon what was said before her: no harsh or captious judgment of hers ever cooled the confidence of her friends. Thoughts were free, and might be uttered without responsibility before her, merely passing for what they were worth. Such gifts, had they been her only ones, would have made Madame de B's friends adore her; but how many others she possessed! It was impossible to feel ennui in her company. There was a charm in her wit and manner, that made even trifles interesting the moment they engrossed her attention.

Charles bore some resemblance to his mother. His mind like her's was liberal and just, but firm, and without modification, for youth allows of none; it finds every thing either quite right or quite wrong, while the failing of old age is to believe that nothing is ever quite right or quite wrong. Charles was endowed with the two first qualities of his age,—truth and justice. I have already said, that he hated the very shadow of affectation; nay, he sometimes fancied it where it did not exist. Reserve was habitual to him, and this made his confidence the more flattering, as it was evidently the result of his esteem, and not of his natural propensity; whatever portion of it he granted, was of value, for he never acted inconsiderately, and yet was always natural and sincere. He placed such full reliance in me, that his thoughts were communicated to me as quickly as they came. When we were all seated round our table of an evening, how interesting were our conversations. Our old Abbé took his share in them; he had made out to himself such a completely false set of ideas, and maintained them with so much good faith, that he was an inexhaustible source of amusement to Madame de B.; her clear and penetrating judgment drew out the poor man's absurdities (he never taking it amiss), and she would throw in keen traits of good sense over his orderly system, which we used to compare to the heavy strokes of Charlemagne's or Roland's sword.

Madame de B. was fond of exercise; we used to walk in the forest of St. Germain every morning; she leaning on the Abbé, and I following with Charles at a distance. It was then he would unburthen his mind to me, and tell me his thoughts, his projects, his future hopes, and above all, his opinion upon men and passing events. He had not a secret feeling hidden from me, and was unconscious of disclosing one. The habit of relying upon my friendship had made it like his own life to him. He enjoyed it without knowing that he did. He demanded neither attention nor expressions of interest from me; he knew that, in speaking to me of his own concerns, it