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220 her position than she felt it to be, to allay the anxieties of the proscribed Buzot, to whom she wrote again on the 6th of July:—

Calm yourself, my friend; this new captivity has not aggravated my state so much that we should risk anything to change it. Fourteen days ago I sent for this dear picture which hitherto, by a kind of superstition, I would not place in a prison. But why deny myself this poor and precious consolation in the absence of the original? It is next to my heart, hidden from all eyes, felt at all moments, and often bathed with my tears. Yes; I admire your courage, I am honoured by your attachment, and glory in the efforts with which these sentiments may inspire your proud and sensitive soul. Whoever is capable of loving as we do feels within himself the root of all great and good actions, the reward of the heaviest sacrifices, a consolation in all trials. Adieu, my best beloved, adieu!

The last letter she sent to the outlaw was penned on the 7th of July. After that date Buzot lost his last ray of comfort in the cessation of all intercourse with her whose picture he, too, carried next his heart:—

You cannot imagine the charms of a prison, mon ami, where we are only responsible to ourselves for what use we make of time! No tiresome interruptions, no painful sacrifices, no petty cares; none of those duties all the more imperious because they appeal to our sense of right; none of those conflicts between the laws or prejudices of society and our dearest impulses; no jealous looks to watch us and everything we do; nobody who suffers from one's melancholy or inaction, or who exacts sentiments beyond one's control. Given back to oneself, with no obstacles to overcome, one may honestly give free play to one's thoughts, without injuring the rights or affections of anyone, and thus recover moral independence in the bosom of