not commit yourself to the
suspicion of having any doubts of the people!'

"When the King entered to take leave of her, and of all his most faithful
attendants, he could only articulate, 'Adieu!' But when the Queen saw him
accompanied by the Comte d'Estaing and others, whom, from their new
principles, she knew to be popular favourites, she had command enough of
herself not to shed a tear in their presence.

"No sooner, however, had the King left the room than it was as much as
the Count Fersen, Princesse Elizabeth, and all of us could do to recover
her from the most violent convulsions. At last, coming to herself, she
retired with the Princess, the Duchess, and myself to await the King's
return; at the same time requesting the Count Fersen to follow His
Majesty to the Hotel de Ville. Again and again she implored the Count,
as she went, in case the King should be detained, to interest himself
with all the foreign Ministers to interpose for his liberation.

"Versailles, when the King was gone, seemed like a city deserted in
consequence of the plague. The palace was completely abandoned. All the
attendants were dispersed. No one was seen in the streets. Terror
prevailed. It was universally believed that the King would be detained
in Paris. The high road from Versailles to Paris was crowded with all
ranks of people, as if to catch a last look of their Sovereign.

"The Count Fersen set off instantly, pursuant to the Queen's desire. He
saw all that passed, and on his return related to me the history of that
horrid day.

"He arrived at Paris just in time to see His Majesty take the national
cockade from M. Bailly and place it in his hat. He, felt the Hotel de
Ville shake with the long-continued cries of 'Vive le roi!' in
consequence, which so affected the King that, for some moments, he was
unable to express himself. 'I myself,' added the Count, 'was so moved at
the effect on His Majesty, in being thus warmly received by his Parisian
subjects, which portrayed the paternal emotions of his long-lacerated
heart, that every other feeling was paralysed for a moment, in exultation
at the apparent unanimity between the Sovereign and his people. But it
did not,' continued the Ambassador, 'paralyse the artful tongue of
Bailly, the Mayor of Paris. I could have kicked the fellow for his
malignant impudence; for, even in the cunning compliment he framed, he
studied to humble the afflicted Monarch by telling the people it was to
them