Dear ——­,

During the excitement of the last three days, I had not bethought me of paying a visit to the Rue d’Anjou:  indeed I was under the impression that General Lafayette was at La Grange, for I had understood that he only remained at Paris to attend the funeral of Lamarque.  There were rumours of his having been arrested, but these I set down to the marvel-mongers, who are always busy when extraordinary events occur.  Just at dusk, I heard, by accident, there was still a chance of finding him in his apartment, and I walked across the river, in order to ascertain the fact for myself.

What a difference between the appearance of the streets this evening, and that which they had made on the night of the 5th!  Now the bridges were deserted, the garden was empty, and the part of the population that was visible, seemed uneasy and suspicious.  The rumour that the government intended to declare Paris in a state of siege, and to substitute military for the ordinary civil tribunals, was confirmed, though the measure was not yet officially announced.  This act was in direct opposition to a clause in the charter, as I have told you, and the pretence, in a town in which fifty thousand troops had just quelled a rising of a few hundred men, was as frivolous as the measure itself is illegal.  It has, however, the merit of throwing aside the mask, and of showing the world in what manner the present authorities understand a government of the people.

A dead calm reigned in the Rue d’Anjou.  Apart from the line of cabriolets de place, of which there were but three, not a carriage nor a human being was visible in the street.  Nothing stood before the porte-cochere of No. 6, a thing so unusual, more especially in critical moments, that I suspected I had been misled, and that I should have a bootless walk.  The gate was open, and entering without knocking, I was just turning off the great staircase, to ascend the humbler flight that leads to the well-known door, that door through which I had so lately seen so many dignitaries pressing to enter, when the porter called to me to give an account of myself.  He recognised me, however, by the light of the lamp, and nodded an assent.

I waited a minute or more, after ringing, before the door was opened by Bastien.  The honest fellow let me in on the instant, and, without proceeding to announce me, led the way through the salons to the bed-room of his master.  The General was alone with the husband of his grand-daughter, Francois de Corcelles.  The former was seated with his back to the door as I entered; the latter was leaning against the mantel-piece.  The “bonsoir, mon ami,” of the first was frank and kind as usual, but I was immediately struck with a change in his manner.  He was calm, and he held out his hand, as Bastien mentioned my name; but, although not seated at his table, he did not rise.  Glancing my eyes at him, as I passed on to salute Monsieur de Corcelles, I thought I had never before seen Lafayette wearing so fine an air of majesty.  His large, noble form was erect and swelling, and that eye, whose fire age had not quenched, was serenely proud.  He seemed prepared to meet important events with the dignity and sternness that marked his principles.