amilton, as all my letters were to be
sent from France to Turin, and thence on to Sir William at Naples; and if
I found no letters with him, I should immediately set off and return to
Turin or Milan, to be as near France as possible for my speedy return if
necessary. I ventured to add that it was my earnest prayer that all the
European Sovereigns would feel the necessity of interesting themselves
for the Royal Family of France, with whose fate the fate of monarchy
throughout Europe might be interwoven.

"Oh, God of Heaven!" cried the Queen, "all that dear family may ere now
have been murdered! Perhaps they are already numbered among the dead!
Oh, my poor, dear, beloved Marie! Oh, I shall go frantic! I must send
for General Acton."

Wringing her hands, she pulled the bell, and in a few minutes the general
came. On his entering the apartment, she flew to him like one deprived
of reason.

"There!" exclaimed she. "There! Behold the fatal consequences!" showing
him the letter. "Louis XVI. is in the state of Charles the First of
England, and my sister will certainly be murdered."

"No, no, no!" exclaimed the general. "Something will be done. Calm
yourself, madame." Then turning to me, "When," said he, "did you leave
Paris?"

"When all was lost!" interrupted the Queen.

"Nay," cried the general; "pray let me speak. All is not lost, you will
find; have but a little patience."

"Patience!" said the Queen. "For two years I have heard of nothing else.
Nothing has been done for these unfortunate beings." She then threw
herself into a chair. "Tell him!" cried she to me, "tell him! tell
him!"

I then informed the general that I had left Paris on the 2d of August,
but did not believe at the time, though the daily riots were horrible,
that such a catastrophe could have occurred so soon as eight days after.

The Queen was now quite exhausted, and General Acton rang the bell for
the lady-in-waiting, who entered accompanied by the Duchesse Curigliano
Marini, and they assisted Her Majesty to bed.

When she had retired, "Do not," said the general to me, "do not go to Sir
William's to-night. He is at Caserte. You seem too much fatigued."

"More from grief," replied I, "and reflection on the fatal consequences
that might result to the great personages I have so lately left, than
from the journey."

"Take my advice," resumed he. "You had much better go to bed and rest
yourself. You look very ill."

I did as