Compiègne called upon us. We were still in our religious dress, which he had frequently urged us to change, but we always alleged that we had not money sufficient to furnish ourselves with clothes. The same day he returned to us again, called two of our company aside, and told them they must now absolutely put off that uniform, alluding to the habit, for that he durst no longer permit that prohibited dress; that should the people again become riotous, we should be more safe from their resentment in any other dress than the religious one. The truth was, he expected we should like the good Carmelites be soon conducted to Paris for execution, and was afraid he might be put to trouble if we were found in the conventual dress.
Being repeatedly assured we had not money to purchase clothes, he went himself to the apartment which those respectable ladies had occupied, and brought us some of the poor clothing they had left there; these he desired we would put on without delay. We were still in want of shoes: he very civilly said he would provide us with what we wanted, but one of the jailors standing by bluntly told us we should not long have occasion for shoes.
One day on leaving the room, the mayor, turning to the Rev. Mr. Higginson, in a low voice said, "Take care of your friends," meaning, prepare them for death, for he well knew Mr. Higginson had nothing else in his power. The next day the news became confirmed that the poor Carmelites had been put to death by the guillotine. The old clothes, which before appeared of small value, were now so much esteemed that we deemed ourselves unworthy to wear them; still, forced by necessity, we put them on, and these constituted the greater part of our mean apparel on our return to England. We yet keep them, a few excepted, which we have disposed of to particular friends. The prisoners of Compiègne were still pressed to pay off
