rom the wounds which
they had received in the conflict and tumult of the morning. A train of
carriages containing a deputation of the members of the Assembly also
followed; Mirabeau himself having just earned a motion that the Assembly
was inseparable from the king, and that wherever he was there must be the
place of meeting for the great council of the nation. Yet, in spite of the
confidence which their presence might have been expected to diffuse among
the mob, and in spite of the hopes of coming plenty which the rioters
themselves announced, the royal party was not even yet safe from further
attacks. Some ruffians stabbed at the royal carriage as it passed with
their pikes, and several shots were fired at it, though fortunately they
missed their aim and no one was injured.[8]

To the queen the journey was more painful than to any one else. A few
weeks before she had congratulated Mademoiselle de Lamballe on not being a
mother--perhaps the bitterest exclamation that grief and anxiety ever
wrung from her lips; and now the keenest anxieties of a mother were indeed
added to those of a queen. The procession moved with painful slowness. No
provisions had been taken in the carriage, and the little dauphin was
suffering from hunger and begging for some food. Tears, which her own
danger could not bring to her eyes, flowed plentifully as she witnessed
the suffering of her child. She could only beg him to bear his privations
with patience; and she had the reward of the pains she had always taken to
inspire him with confident in her, in the fortitude with which, for the
rest of the day, he bore what to children of his age is probably the
severest hardship to which they can be exposed.[9]

So vast and disorderly was the procession that it was nine o'clock at
night before it reached Paris. Bailly again met the royal carriage at the
barrier, and, re-assuming the tone of coarse insult which he had adopted
on the king's previous visit, had the effrontery to describe the day so
full of horror to every one, and of humiliation and agony to those whom he
was addressing, as a glorious day. It was at such moments as these that
Louis's impassibility assumed the character of dignity. He disdained to
notice the mayor's insolence, and briefly answered that it was always with
pleasure and with confidence that he found himself among the inhabitants
of his good city of Paris. He proceeded to the Hotel de Ville, where the
council of civic magistra