still.

She witnessed in Caen the failure of the Girondin attempt to
raise an army with which to deliver Paris from the foul clutches
of the Jacobins. An anguished spectator of this failure, she saw
in it a sign that Liberty was being strangled at its birth. On
the lips of her friends the Girondins she caught again the name
of Marat, the murderer of Liberty; and, brooding, she reached a
conclusion embodied in a phrase of a letter which she wrote about
that time.

"As long as Marat lives there will never be any safety for the
friends of law and humanity."

From that negative conclusion to its positive, logical equivalent
it was but a step. That step she took. She may have considered
awhile the proposition thus presented to her, or resolve may have
come to her with realization. She understood that a great
sacrifice was necessary; that who undertook to rid France of that
unclean monster must go prepared for self-immolation. She counted
the cost calmly and soberly--for calm and sober was now her every
act.

She made her packages, and set out one morning by the Paris coach
from Caen, leaving a note for her father, in which she had
written:

"I am going to England, because I do not believe that it will be
possible for a long time to live happily and tranquilly in
France. On leaving I post this letter to you. When you receive it