act;
he could only suffer. His command to the officer, the last he ever issued,
was for the whole battalion to lay down their arms, to evacuate the
palace, and to retire to their barracks. He would not, he said, that such
brave men should die. They knew that in fact he was consigning them to
death without honor; but they were loyal to the last. They obeyed, though
their obedience to the first part of the order rendered the last part
impracticable. They laid down their arms, and were at once made prisoners;
and the fate of prisoners in such hands as those of their captors was
certain. A small handful, consisting, it is said, of fourteen men, escaped
through the courage of one or two friends, who presently brought them
plain clothes to exchange for their uniforms, but before night all the
rest were massacred.

Not more fortunate were their comrades of the other battalion, except in
falling by a more soldier-like death. Though no longer supported by the
detachment under D'Hervilly, they succeeded in forcing their way to the
draw-bridge. It was held by a strong detachment of the National Guard, who
ought to have received them as comrades, but who had now caught the
contagion of successful treason, and fired on them as they advanced. But
the gallant Swiss, in spite of their diminished numbers still invincible,
charged through them, forced their way across the bridge into the Place
Louis XV., and there formed themselves into square, resolved to sell their
lives dearly. It was all that was left to them to do. The mounted
gendarmery, too, came up and turned against them. Hemmed in on all sides,
they fell one after another; Louis, who had refused to let them die for
him, having only given their death the additional pang that it had been of
no service to him.

The retreat of the king had left the Tuileries at the mercy of the
rioters. Furious to find that he had escaped them, they wreaked their rage
on the lifeless furniture, breaking, hewing, and destroying in every way
that wantonness or malice could devise. Different articles which had
belonged to the queen were the especial objects of their wrath. Crowds of
the vilest women arrayed themselves in her dresses, or defiled her bed.
Her looking-glasses were broken, with imprecations, because they had
reflected her features. Her footmen were pursued and slaughtered because
they had been wont to obey her. Nor were the monsters who slew them
contented with murder. They tore the dea