nce three in the afternoon.

Though it became rainy during the latter half of the day, so that the
thousands out of doors were all wet to the skin, the morning had been
fair; and the king went out hunting, as usual, while the queen spent the
morning at her favourite little estate of Trianon. The Dauphin was at
home, with his new governess, the Marchioness de Tourzel, little
dreaming, poor child, that there were people already on the road from
Paris who wanted to make him a king instead of his father. One of the
ministers hearing unpleasant rumours, took horse, and went to try to
find the king. He met him in the woods, some way from home, and
conjured him to make haste back. The king, however, rode as slowly as
possible, till more messengers appeared with news that a mob of
desperate women was actually entering the avenue. Then he had to spur
his horse; and he arrived safe. The queen had returned before him. She
had been sitting, alone and disconsolate, in her grotto at Trianon,
reflecting on the miserable prospects of her family, when a line was
brought to her from one of the ministers, begging that she would hasten
home. As soon as the king returned, orders were given to have the
carriages ready at the back doors of the palace; and the children (kept
out of sight) were equipped for a journey.

The want of decision in the royal movements, as usual, ruined
everything. When the king had received and dismissed a deputation of
the women, there was a shout of "Long live the king!" and he then
thought it would not be necessary to go. Not long afterwards, when the
people were seen to be as angry as ever, and to be insulting the royal
guard, the carriages were again ordered. Some of them, empty, attempted
to pass the back gates, to ascertain whether others might follow with
the family: but the mob were now on the watch, and the carriages were
turned back. The hour for escape was gone by.

When little Louis was got ready for the journey, it was by candlelight,
and past bedtime. Perhaps he was not sorry when his things were taken
off again, and he was laid in his bed, instead of getting into the
carriage on a pouring rainy night, to pass through or near a disorderly
mob, who might be heard from within the palace crying "Bread! Bread!"

Little Louis did not know all the disorders of that mob. Thousands of
women, wet to the skin, were calling out "Bread! Bread!" till they were
hoarse. They threatened his mother'