hat, his plain dress, his shoes tied with ribbons, shocked and scandalised the whole tribe of flunkeys. Here, indeed, was Royalty compromised as it never had been before. The Master of the Ceremonies, approaching Dumouriez with a disturbed countenance and frowning brow, said in a low, constrained voice, indicating Roland with a side-glance, "Lord! Sir, no buckles to his shoes!" "Ah! Sir, all is lost!" replied Dumouriez, with a most comical self-possession.
Madame Roland was now installed in the Ministerial residence, magnificently fitted up, in the early days of Louis XVI.'s reign, by M. de Calonne while, like so many others, trying his hand at regulating the finances. To her private use she appropriated only a small cabinet. The only change she made in her life was to restrict her intercourse even more severely than of old, partly to economise time and partly to keep the host of place-seekers at a distance. Twice a week she presided at a Ministerial dinner, to which, besides her husband's colleagues, members of the Assembly and other political friends, to the number of fifteen, were bidden, but at which no lady save herself was present. Lemontey, a distinguished writer, though not a political partisan, describing Madame Roland as she was at this period, says: "Head, eyes, and hair were of remarkable beauty. The freshness and brilliancy of her delicate complexion, added to an air of reserve and candour, gave her a singularly youthful appearance. I did not discover that easy elegance of the Parian to which she lays claim in her Memoirs, yet she was devoid of awkwardness, because what is simple and natural must also be graceful. On my first seeing her she realised my idea of the little girl of Vevay, who has turned so many heads, the Julie of
