ation. Even those ruthless
miscreants were awed by her magnanimous fearlessness; not a shot was
fired; for a moment it seemed as if her enemies had become her partisans.
Loud shouts of "Bravo!" and "Long live the queen!" were heard on all
sides; and one ruffian, who raised his gun to take aim at her, had his
weapon beaten down by those who stood near him, and ran some risk of being
himself sacrificed to their indignation. But this impulse of respect, like
other impulses of such a people, was short-lived, and presently the
multitude began to raise a shout, which expressed the original purpose
which had led the majority to march upon Versailles. "To Paris!" was the
cry, and again La Fayette volunteered his advice, urging the king to
comply with the request. By this time Louis had learned the value of the
marquis's loyalty. But he had no alternative. It was evident that the
rioters had the power of compelling compliance with their demand. And
accordingly he authorized the marquis to promise that he would remove his
family to Paris, and a few minutes afterward he himself went out on the
balcony with the queen, and himself announced his intention, with the view
of giving his act a greater appearance of being voluntarily resolved upon.

Soon after midday he set out, accompanied by the queen, his brother the
Count de Provence, his sister the Princess Elizabeth, and his children. It
was a strange and shameful retinue that escorted the King of France to his
capital. One party of the rioters, with Maillard and another ruffian named
Jourdan, the chief of the Coupe-tetes, at their head, had started two
hours before, bearing aloft in triumph the heads of the mangled
Body-guards, and combining such hideous mockery with their barbarity that
they halted at Sevres to compel a barber to dress the hair on the lifeless
skulls. And now the royal carriage was surrounded by a vast and confused
medley; market-women and the rest of the female rabble, with drunken gangs
of the ruffians who had stormed the palace in the morning, still
brandishing their weapons, or bearing loaves of bread on their pike-heads,
and singing out that they should all have enough of bread now, since they
were bringing the baker, the bakeress, and the baker's boy to Paris.[7]
The only part of the procession that bore even a decent appearance was a
small escort of 'different regiments--the Guards, the National Guards, and
the Body-guards; many of the latter still bleeding f