lle. Contat's. At the same time I refused to
paint Mlle. de Laborde (afterward Duchess de Noailles), brought to me
by her father. She was scarcely sixteen, and very charming, but it was
no longer a question of success or money--it was only a question of
saving one's head. I had my carriage loaded, and my passport ready, so
that I might leave next day with my daughter and her governess, when a
crowd of national guardsmen burst into my room with their muskets.
Most of them were drunk and shabby, and had terrible faces. A few of
them came up to me and told me in the coarsest language that I must
not go, but that I must remain. I answered that since everybody had
been called upon to enjoy his liberty, I intended to make use of mine.
They would barely listen to me, and kept on repeating, "You will not
go, citizeness; you will not go!" Finally they went away. I was
plunged into a state of cruel anxiety when I saw two of them return.
But they did not frighten me, although they belonged to the gang, so
quickly did I recognise that they wished me no harm. "Madame," said
one of them, "we are your neighbours, and we have come to advise you
to leave, and as soon as possible. You cannot live here; you are
changed so much that we feel sorry for you. But do not go in your
carriage: go in the stage-coach; it is much safer." I thanked them
with all my heart, and followed their good advice. I had three places
reserved, as I still wanted to take my daughter, who was then five or
six years old, but was unable to secure them until a fortnight later,
because all who exiled themselves chose the stage-coach, like myself.
At last came the long-expected day.

It was the 5th of October, and the King and Queen were conducted from
Versailles to Paris surrounded by pikes. The events of that day filled
me with uneasiness as to the fate of Their Majesties and that of all
decent people, so that I was dragged to the stage-coach at midnight in
a dreadful state of mind. I was very much afraid of the Faubourg Saint
Antoine, which I was obliged to traverse to reach the Barriere du
Trone. My brother and my husband escorted me as far as this gate
without leaving the door of the coach for a moment; but the suburb
that I was so frightened of was perfectly quiet. All its inhabitants,
the workmen and the rest, had been to Versailles after the royal
family, and fatigue kept them all in bed.

Opposite me in the coach was a very filthy man, who stunk like the
plag