The tide advances; Syndic Roederer’s and all men’s straits grow straiter and straiter.  Fremescent clangor comes from the armed Nationals in the Court; far and wide is the infinite hubbub of tongues.  What counsel?  And the tide is now nigh!  Messengers, forerunners speak hastily through the outer Grates; hold parley sitting astride the walls.  Syndic Roederer goes out and comes in.  Cannoneers ask him:  Are we to fire against the people?  King’s Ministers ask him:  Shall the King’s House be forced?  Syndic Roederer has a hard game to play.  He speaks to the Cannoneers with eloquence, with fervour; such fervour as a man can, who has to blow hot and cold in one breath.  Hot and cold, O Roederer?  We, for our part, cannot live and die!  The Cannoneers, by way of answer, fling down their linstocks.—­Think of this answer, O King Louis, and King’s Ministers:  and take a poor Syndic’s safe middle-course, towards the Salle de Manege.  King Louis sits, his hands leant on knees, body bent forward; gazes for a space fixedly on Syndic Roederer; then answers, looking over his shoulder to the Queen:  Marchons!  They march; King Louis, Queen, Sister Elizabeth, the two royal children and governess:  these, with Syndic Roederer, and Officials of the Department; amid a double rank of National Guards.  The men with blunderbusses, the steady red Swiss gaze mournfully, reproachfully; but hear only these words from Syndic Roederer:  “The King is going to the Assembly; make way.”  It has struck eight, on all clocks, some minutes ago:  the King has left the Tuileries—­for ever.

O ye stanch Swiss, ye gallant gentlemen in black, for what a cause are ye to spend and be spent!  Look out from the western windows, ye may see King Louis placidly hold on his way; the poor little Prince Royal ‘sportfully kicking the fallen leaves.’  Fremescent multitude on the Terrace of the Feuillants whirls parallel to him; one man in it, very noisy, with a long pole:  will they not obstruct the outer Staircase, and back-entrance of the Salle, when it comes to that?  King’s Guards can go no further than the bottom step there.  Lo, Deputation of Legislators come out; he of the long pole is stilled by oratory; Assembly’s Guards join themselves to King’s Guards, and all may mount in this case of necessity; the outer Staircase is free, or passable.  See, Royalty ascends; a blue Grenadier lifts the poor little Prince Royal from the press; Royalty has entered in.  Royalty has vanished for ever from your eyes.—­And ye?  Left standing there, amid the yawning abysses, and earthquake of Insurrection; without course; without command:  if ye perish it must be as more than martyrs, as martyrs who are now without a cause!  The black Courtiers disappear mostly; through such issues as they can.  The poor Swiss know not how to act:  one duty only is clear to them, that of standing by their post; and they will perform that.