e sur nous (Paris is marching on us)."--"May be (Je
n'en sais rien)!"--"Believe it or disbelieve it, that is not my concern;
but Paris, I say, is marching on us. Fall suddenly unwell; go over to
the Chateau; tell them this. There is not a moment to lose."--"Paris
marching on us?" responds Mounier, with an atrabiliar accent, "Well, so
much the better! We shall the sooner be a Republic." Mirabeau quits
him, as one quits an experienced President getting blindfold into deep
waters; and the order of the day continues as before.

Yes, Paris is marching on us; and more than the women of Paris! Scarcely
was Maillard gone, when M. de Gouvion's message to all the Districts,
and such tocsin and drumming of the generale, began to take effect.
Armed National Guards from every District; especially the Grenadiers
of the Centre, who are our old Gardes Francaises, arrive, in quick
sequence, on the Place de Greve. An 'immense people' is there;
Saint-Antoine, with pike and rusty firelock, is all crowding thither,
be it welcome or unwelcome. The Centre Grenadiers are received with
cheering: "it is not cheers that we want," answer they gloomily; "the
nation has been insulted; to arms, and come with us for orders!" Ha,
sits the wind so? Patriotism and Patrollotism are now one!

The Three Hundred have assembled; 'all the Committees are in activity;'
Lafayette is dictating despatches for Versailles, when a Deputation of
the Centre Grenadiers introduces itself to him. The Deputation makes
military obeisance; and thus speaks, not without a kind of thought in
it: "Mon General, we are deputed by the Six Companies of Grenadiers. We
do not think you a traitor, but we think the Government betrays you; it
is time that this end. We cannot turn our bayonets against women crying
to us for bread. The people are miserable, the source of the mischief is
at Versailles: we must go seek the King, and bring him to Paris. We
must exterminate (exterminer) the Regiment de Flandre and the
Gardes-du-Corps, who have dared to trample on the National Cockade. If
the King be too weak to wear his crown, let him lay it down. You will
crown his Son, you will name a Council of Regency; and all will go
better." (Deux Amis, iii. 161.) Reproachful astonishment paints itself
on the face of Lafayette; speaks itself from his eloquent chivalrous
lips: in vain. "My General, we would shed the last drop of our blood for
you; but the root of the mischief is at Versailles; we must go a