But while the recollection of early friendships rose from the past "like an old half-forgotten legend," these friends proved the strength of their attachment by coming, at imminent risk to themselves, to visit the prisoner. Now it was the faithful Agatha, poor fluttered nun, driven from her convent, but still roosting near it, that came to lament over her darling. Now it was Henriette, most generous and devoted of souls, who sought her old friend, not merely to console but to offer to take her place. She, a royalist, had seen nothing of Roland's wife since the Revolution had swept them asunder. But misfortune is a great peace-maker. Madame de Vouglans was a widow and childless; the prisoner had an old, suffering husband who needed her care and a young, interesting daughter. What more simple than to propose to die for her—save a useful at the expense of a useless life! Henriette wanted to exchange clothes with Manon, and tried to convince her that, by the time the trick was discovered, she could have made good her escape: a perfectly feasible plan, provided the captive were willing. "But they would kill you, my good Henriette!" cried Madame Roland. "Your blood would be upon my head! Better suffer a thousand deaths than have to reproach myself with yours!" Tears and prayers were of no avail. The thing was impossible. She had no illusions as to her own fate, though she often made light of it to others.
Heroism is very catching. Nothing commoner in the Revolution than this sublime disregard of life. The wave of emotion leaped so high that timid women, who in ordinary times would hide from a thunderstorm, were ready to face the most imminent perils. We have heard quite enough of the horrors of this
