A few words on the after fate of these gay Frenchmen.  The story is not a bright one.  The times that tried men’s souls were at hand, and many of them fell victims.  The comte de Rochambeau, made a marshal by Louis XVI., narrowly escaped death under Robespierre.  In 1803 Napoleon gave him a pension and the grand cross of the Legion of Honor:  he died in 1807.  Lauzun perished on the scaffold, sentenced by the Tribunal in January, 1794.  The night before his death he was calm, slept and ate well.  When the jailer came for him he was eating his breakfast.  He said, “Citizen, permit me to finish.”  Then, offering him a glass, he said, “Take this wine:  you need strength for such a trade as you ply.”  D’Estaing, on his return from America, was commander at Grenada.  He became a member of the Assembly of Notables, but being suspected by the Terrorists was guillotined on the 29th of April, 1793.  The vicomte de Rochambeau was killed at the battle of Leipsic; Berthier became military confidant to Napoleon, was made marshal of France and murdered at Bamberg; the comte de Viosmenil was made marshal at the Restoration; his brother the marquis was wounded and died, defending the royal family; the comte de Darnas, who helped their flight, barely escaped with his life; Fersen was killed in a riot at Stockholm; the comte Christian de Deux-Ponts was captured by Nelson while on a boat-excursion at Porto Cavallo:  Nelson generously released him on learning who he was; Desoteux, the master of ceremonies of the Newport assembly, became the celebrated Chouan chief in Vendee; Dumas was president of the Assembly, general of division, fought at Waterloo and took a high rank in the constitutional monarchy of 1830.  With what interest and sympathy must the Newport belles have watched the career of their quondam admirers!  How must the tragic fate of some of them have saddened friendly hearts beyond the ocean they had once traversed as deliverers!  The lot of the fair danseuses of the French balls at Newport was in most cases the ordinary one, and yet the record of their loves and their graces leaves a gracious fragrance amid their former haunts in the city by the sea.  In the old streets and peeping from the quaint latticed windows we can with a little imagination see their graceful figures and fair faces, or find in the Newport drawing-rooms their pictured likenesses on the wall or in the persons of their descendants, often no less piquante and attractive than the dames of 1780.  Miss Champlin married, and until lately her grandson was living in the old house, the home of five successive generations; her brother, Christopher Champlin, married the beautiful Miss Redwood; one of the Miss Ellerys took for a husband William Channing and became the mother of a famous son; her granddaughter was the wife of Washington Allston; the Miss Hunters married abroad—­one the comte de Cardignan, the other Mr. Falconet, a Naples banker.