ere
walking up and down the great room where the persons in attendance
remained. Some imprudent young women were thoughtless enough to say, with
the intention of being overheard by those officers, that it was very
alarming to see the Queen alone with a rebel and a brigand. I was annoyed
at their indiscretion, and imposed silence on them. One of them persisted
in the appellation "brigand." I told her that M. de La Fayette well
deserved the name of rebel, but that the title of leader of a party was
given by history to every man commanding forty thousand men, a capital,
and forty leagues of country; that kings had frequently treated with such
leaders, and if it was convenient to the Queen to do the same, it remained
for us only to be silent and respect her actions. On the morrow the
Queen, with a serious air; but with the greatest kindness, asked what I
had said respecting M. de La Fayette on the preceding day; adding that she
had been assured I had enjoined her women silence, because they did not
like him, and that I had taken his part. I repeated what had passed to
the Queen, word for word. She condescended to tell me that I had done
perfectly right.

Whenever any false reports respecting me were conveyed to her she was kind
enough to inform me of them; and they had no effect on the confidence with
which she continued to honour me, and which I am happy to think I have
justified even at the risk of my life.

Mesdames, the King's aunts, set out from Bellevue in the beginning of the
year 1791. Alexandre Berthier, afterwards Prince de Neufchatel, then a
colonel on the staff of the army, and commandant of the National Guard of
Versailles, facilitated the departure of Mesdames. The Jacobins of that
town procured his dismissal, and he ran the greatest risk, on account of
having rendered this service to these Princesses.

I went to take leave of Madame Victoire. I little thought that I was then
seeing her for the last time. She received me alone in her closet, and
assured

[General Berthier justified the monarch's confidence by a firm and prudent
line of conduct which entitled him to the highest military honours, and to
the esteem of the great warrior whose fortune, dangers, and glory he
afterwards shared. This officer, full of honour, and gifted with the
highest courage, was shut into the courtyard of Bellevue by his own troop,
and ran great risk of being murdered. It was not until the 14th of March
that he suc