ence of the child and the
helplessness of the mother would prove their protection. But when the
Duchess of Orleans perceived that no arrangements were being made
for her escape and that of her children, she exclaimed in anguish,

"Are you going to leave me here alone, without parents, friends, or
any to advise me? What will become of me?"

The king sadly replied, "My dear Helen, the dynasty must be saved,
and the crown preserved to your son. Remain here, then, for his sake.
It is a sacrifice you owe your son."

Seldom has a woman and a mother been called to pass through a more
severe ordeal than this. The peril was awful. In a few moments a mob
of countless thousands, composed of the dregs of the populace of
Paris, inflamed with intoxication and rage, might be surging through
all the apartments of the Tuileries, while the duchess and her
children were entirely at their mercy. No ordinary heroism could be
adequate to such a trial. The duchess threw herself at the feet of
the king, and entreated permission to accompany him in his flight.
The king was firm, cruelly firm. Leaving the widow of his son, with
her two children, all unprotected, behind him, he withdrew, to effect
his own escape with the queen and the princesses, under the guidance
of his son, the Duke de Nemours, who displayed the utmost heroism
during all the scenes of that eventful day. As the party was in
disguise, and the whole city was in a state of indescribable tumult,
the fugitives succeeded in traversing, without being recognized, the
broad central avenue of the garden of the Tuileries. Emerging by the
gate of the Pont Tournant, they reached the foot of the obelisk in
the Place de la Concorde. It was one o'clock in the afternoon; the
duke had ordered the carriages to be ready for them there. But the
mob, recognizing the carriages as belonging to the royal family, had
dashed them to pieces.

The embarrassment and peril were terrible. There was momentary danger
of being recognized. Then death and being trampled beneath the feet
of the mob were almost inevitable. An agitated throng of countless
thousands was surging through the Place. Already some began to
suspect them as belonging to the court, and they were rudely jostled.
But providentially there were two hackney-coaches near by. These were
hurriedly engaged, the royal family thrust into them, and a guard of
cuirassiers, previously stationed near for the occasion by the Duke
de Nemours, gathered ar