My frightened coachman only thought of getting on his way, but the coach was stopped.  I was made to get out and taken to the guard-room, where there were several people already, and in less than three minutes there were twenty of us, all under arrest, all astonished at the situation, and all as much guilty as I was.  We sat glum and silent, looking at each other without daring to speak.  I knew not what to think, and not believing in enchantment I began to think I must be dreaming.  Every face expressed surprise, as everyone, though innocent, was more or less afraid.

We were not left in this disagreeable position for long, as in five minutes an officer came in, and after some polite apologies told us we were free.

“The king is wounded,” he said, “and he has been taken to his room.  The assassin, whom nobody knows, is under arrest.  M. de la Martiniere is being looked for everywhere.”

As soon as I had got back to my coach, and was thinking myself lucky for being there, a gentlemanly-looking young man came up to me and besought me to give him a seat in my coach, and he would gladly pay half the fare; but in spite of the laws of politeness I refused his request.  I may possibly have been wrong.  On any other occasion I should have been most happy to give him a place, but there are times when prudence does not allow one to be polite.  I was about three hours on the way, and in this short time I was overtaken every minute by at least two hundred couriers riding at a breakneck pace.  Every minute brought a new courier, and every courier shouted his news to the winds.  The first told me what I already knew; then I heard that the king had been bled, that the wound was not mortal, and finally, that the wound was trifling, and that his majesty could go to the Trianon if he liked.

Fortified with this good news, I went to Silvia’s and found the family at table.  I told them I had just come from Versailles.

“The king has been assassinated.”

“Not at all; he is able to go to the Trianon, or the Parc-aux-cerfs, if he likes.  M. de la Martiniere has bled him, and found him to be in no danger.  The assassin has been arrested, and the wretched man will be burnt, drawn with red-hot pincers, and quartered.”

This news was soon spread abroad by Silvia’s servants, and a crowd of the neighbours came to hear what I had to say, and I had to repeat the same thing ten times over.  At this period the Parisians fancied that they loved the king.  They certainly acted the part of loyal subjects to admiration.  At the present day they are more enlightened, and would only love the sovereign whose sole desire is the happiness of his people, and such a king—­the first citizens of a great nation—­not Paris and its suburbs, but all France, will be eager to love and obey.  As for kings like Louis XV., they have become totally impracticable; but if there are any such, however much they may be supported by interested parties, in the eyes of public opinion they will be dishonoured and disgraced before their bodies are in a grave and their names are written in the book of history.