played the Dog Cerberus,--at which my dear little Angel
of a Lilias made much mirth. His Majesty was to have waited at
Versailles for the playing of the Piece; but after Dinner he changes his
mind, and determines on returning to his other Palace of Trianon.

'Twas about Five o'clock in the Afternoon, and there was a great Crowd
in the Court of Marble to see the Most Christian King take Coach for
Trianon. The Great Court was full of Gardes Francaises, Musqueteers Red
and Gray carrying Torches, with Coaches, Led Horses, Prickers, Grooms,
Pages, Valets, Waiting Women, and all the Hurley-Burly of a great Court.
Some few of the Commonalty also managed to squeeze themselves
in--amongst others, your humble Servant, John Dangerous, who was now
reckoned no better than a Rascal Buffoon.

'Twas bitterly cold, and freezing hard, and the Courtiers had their
hands squeezed into great fur Muffs. I saw the King come down the Marble
Staircase; a fair portly Gentleman, with a Greatcoat, lined with fur,
over his ordinary vestments--then a novelty among the French, and called
a _Redingote_, from our English Riding-coat.

"Is that the King?" I heard a Voice, which I seemed to remember, ask
behind me, as the Monarch passed between a double line of Spectators to
his Coach.

"Yes, Dog," answered he who had been addressed, and who was an Officer
in the Gray Musqueteers. "Pig, why dost thou not take off thy Hat?"

I was all at once pushed violently on one side. A Man with a Drugget
Coat and Flapped Hat, and whom I at once recognised by the light of the
glaring torches as the Red-faced Brawler of the Wine-shop, darted
through the line of Guards, an open Knife in his hand, and rushing up
to him, stabbed King Lewis the Fifteenth in the side.

I could hear his Majesty cry out, "_Oh! je suis blesse!_"--"I am
wounded!"--but all the rest was turbulence and confusion; in the midst
of which, not caring that the Red-faced Man should claim me as an
Acquaintance, I slipped away. I need scarcely say that there was no
Ballet at Versailles that night.

A great deal of Blood came from the King's Wound; for he was a Plethoric
Sovereign, much given to High Living; but he was, on the whole, more
Frightened than Hurt. Although when the Assassin was first laid hold of,
His Majesty cried out in an Easy Manner that no Harm was to be done him,
he never afterwards troubled his Royal Self in the slightest Manner to
put a stop to the Hellish Torments inflicted on a