ese words must have pierced the hearts of his
devoted servants, of his faithful Swiss! This was the reward of their
brave fidelity! The king was leaving those who were ready to die rather
than desert him. He was going to walk out at an open door, while they
were shut in, to be shot down like game in an enclosure.

The family had but a short way to go; and their passage to the Assembly
was watched from the windows by some of the doomed friends whom they
left behind. They walked between two rows of guards; but were yet so
pressed upon that the queen was robbed of her watch and purse. Louis
held his mother's hand, and amused himself with kicking the dead leaves
as he walked. A gigantic man, a ringleader of the mob, snatched up the
boy, and carried him. The queen screamed with terror, and was near
fainting: but the man said, "Do not be frightened: I will do him no
harm." He merely carried him, and then set him down at the gate, where
a deputation from the Assembly came out, to meet the royal family. From
the palace windows the royal family were seen to enter that gate; and
those who saw it well knew that all hope for the royal cause was now
over.

The assailants without and the defenders in the outer court of the
Tuileries did not know of the departure of the royal family; and the
battle therefore began with fury. The gentlemen and servants had now
only to think of saving themselves as they could. Some escaped from
windows, and others under disguises: but many were murdered. The fate
of the Swiss was dreadful. They fought bravely, and kept their ranks.
At last, a messenger arrived with a written order from the king that
they should cease firing. But they were still fired upon from without.
They knew not what to do, and dispersed. Some few reached the Assembly,
and were sheltered there. Some few more fled into private houses; but,
as for the rest, their blood streamed on the floor of the palace, and
their bodies blocked up the doorways. Some lay dead on the terraces,
and others were shot down from street to street as they fled, fighting
their way. From fifty to eighty were marched as prisoners to the Hall
where the magistrates were sitting: but the crowd broke in upon them on
the way, and slaughtered them every one. Their last thought might well
have been, "Put not your trust in princes." But perhaps more painful
thoughts still were in their fainting hearts; and before their swimming
eyes might be vision