they conducted us to a decent inn instead of the common prison.
They also allowed us to call for whatever we chose; two officers belonging to them took particular care of us, the younger of whom could not refrain from tears. The head officers of the hussars also came to see us twice at the inn, and they did all in their power to comfort us; but nothing could now revive our broken spirits.
The thought of being exposed on the roads was too distressing to admit of consolation; their kindness was, however, in our present circumstances highly pleasing. Although it is some years since these events happened, yet the writer of this account declares her blood chills whenever she thinks on those dreadful days. Those who have experienced similar distress will excuse her for expressing herself so feelingly on the subject.
We left Noyon about nine o'clock on Tuesday morning, and had covered our veils with coloured handkerchiefs, and otherwise disguised our dress, that we might pass for French villagers, who wear no hats, and this precaution was of some use, for the people seemed at a loss what to make of us. About four in the afternoon we arrived at Compiègne, and here our guards left us, after having said much in our favour to the mayor and two other members of the district, whose charge it was to meet and receive prisoners attended by the National Guards. The hussars, our own friendly guards, who had all along shown us so much humanity, were natives of Normandy, most of them under twenty years of age. We were the more surprised at their charity, as they were very giddy and profane in their discourse to each other.
The prisoners brought from Cambray to Compiègne at that time were fifty-two in number, our community included. All were confined in one house; it had been
