ther Adam,' as the groups
name him; to us better known as bull-voiced Marquis Saint-Huruge; hero
of the Veto; a man that has had losses, and deserved them. The tall
Marquis, emitted some days ago from limbo, looks peripatetically on this
scene, from under his umbrella, not without interest. All which persons
and things, hurled together as we see; Pallas Athene, busy with Flandre;
patriotic Versailles National Guards, short of ammunition, and deserted
by d'Estaing their Colonel, and commanded by Lecointre their Major; then
caracoling Bodyguards, sour, dispirited, with their buckskins wet; and
finally this flowing sea of indignant Squalor,--may they not give rise
to occurrences?

Behold, however, the Twelve She-deputies return from the Chateau.
Without President Mounier, indeed; but radiant with joy, shouting "Life
to the King and his House." Apparently the news are good, Mesdames? News
of the best! Five of us were admitted to the internal splendours, to the
Royal Presence. This slim damsel, 'Louison Chabray, worker in sculpture,
aged only seventeen,' as being of the best looks and address, her we
appointed speaker. On whom, and indeed on all of us, his Majesty looked
nothing but graciousness. Nay, when Louison, addressing him, was like to
faint, he took her in his royal arms; and said gallantly, "It was well
worth while (Elle en valut bien la peine)." Consider, O women, what a
King! His words were of comfort, and that only: there shall be provision
sent to Paris, if provision is in the world; grains shall circulate free
as air; millers shall grind, or do worse, while their millstones endure;
and nothing be left wrong which a Restorer of French Liberty can right.

Good news these; but, to wet Menads, all too incredible! There seems no
proof, then? Words of comfort are words only; which will feed nothing.
O miserable people, betrayed by Aristocrats, who corrupt thy very
messengers! In his royal arms, Mademoiselle Louison? In his arms? Thou
shameless minx, worthy of a name--that shall be nameless! Yes, thy skin
is soft: ours is rough with hardship; and well wetted, waiting here in
the rain. No children hast thou hungry at home; only alabaster dolls,
that weep not! The traitress! To the Lanterne!--And so poor Louison
Chabray, no asseveration or shrieks availing her, fair slim damsel,
late in the arms of Royalty, has a garter round her neck, and furibund
Amazons at each end; is about to perish so,--when two Bodyguards gallop