Once more in his own apartments, Louis XVI. measured with a glance the depth of his fall.  La Fayette presented himself with all the demeanour of regret and respect, but with the reality of command.  “Your majesty,” said he to the king, “knows my attachment for your royal person, but at the same time you are not ignorant that if you separated yourself from the cause of the people, I should side with the people.”  “That is true,” replied the king.  “You follow your principles—­this is a party matter, and I tell you frankly, that until lately I had believed you had surrounded me by a turbulent faction of persons of your own way of thinking in order to mislead me, but that yours was not the real opinion of France.  I have learnt during my journey that I was deceived, and that this was the general wish.”  “Has your majesty any orders to give me?” replied La Fayette.  “It seems to me,” retorted the king with a smile, “that I am more at your orders than you are at mine.”

The queen allowed the bitterness of her ill-restrained resentment to display itself.  She wished to force on M. de La Fayette the keys of her caskets, which were in the carriages:  he refused.  She insisted; and when he was firm in his refusal, she placed them in his hat with her own hands.  “Your majesty will have the goodness to take them back,” said M. de La Fayette, “for I shall not touch them.”  “Well, then,” answered the queen, “I shall find persons less delicate than you.”  The king entered his closet, wrote several letters, and gave them to a footman, who presented them to La Fayette for inspection.  The general appeared indignant that he should be deemed capable of such an unworthy office as acting the spy over the king’s acts; he was desirous that the thraldom of the monarch should at least preserve the outward appearance of liberty.

The service of the chateau went on as usual; but La Fayette gave the pass-word without first receiving it from the king.  The iron gates of the courts and gardens were locked.  The royal family submitted to La Fayette the list of persons whom they desired to receive.  Sentinels were placed at every door, in every passage, in the corridors between the chambers of the king and queen.  The doors of these chambers were constantly kept open—­even the queen’s bed was inspected.  Every place, the most sacred, was suspected; female modesty was in no wise respected.  The gestures, looks, and words of the king and queen all were watched, spied, and noted.  They were obliged to manage by stealth some secret interviews.  An officer of the guard passed twenty-four hours at a time at the end of a dark corridor, which was placed behind the apartment of the queen’s,—­a single lamp lighted it, like the vault of a dungeon.  This post, detested by the officers on service, was sought after by the devotion of some of them; they affected zeal, in order to cloak their respect.  Saint Prix, a celebrated actor of the Theatre Francais, frequently accepted this post,—­he favoured the hasty interviews of the king, his wife, and sister.