Her Highness immediately decided on the former.  It was at first determined that she should be separated from Madame de Tourzel, but humanity so far prevailed as to permit the consolation of her society, with that of others of her friends and fellow-sufferers, and for a moment the Princess enjoyed the only comfort left to her, that of exchanging sympathy with her partners in affliction.  But the cell to which she was doomed proved her last habitation upon earth.

On the 1st of September the Marseillois began their murderous operations.  Three hundred persons in two days massacred upwards of a thousand defence less prisoners, confined under the pretext of malpractices against the State, or rather devotedness to the royal cause.  The spirit which produced the massacres of the prisons at Paris extended them through the principal towns and cities all over France.

Even the universal interest felt for the Princesse de Lamballe was of no avail against this frenzy.  I remember once (as if it were from a presentiment of what was to occur) the King observing to her, “I never knew any but fools and sycophants who could keep themselves clear from the lash of public censure.  How is it, then, that you, my dear Princess, who are neither, contrive to steer your bark on this dangerous coast without running against the rocks on which so many good vessels like your own have been dashed to pieces?” “Oh, Sire,” replied Her Highness, “my time is not yet come—­I am not dead yet!” Too soon, and too horribly, her hour did come!

The butchery of the prisons was now commenced.  The Duc de Penthievre set every engine in operation to save his beloved daughter-in-law.  He sent for Manuel, who was then Procureur of Paris.  The Duke declared that half his fortune should be Manuel’s if he could but save the Princesse de Lamballe and the ladies who were in the same prison with her from the general massacre.  Manuel promised the Duke that he would instantly set about removing them all from the reach of the blood-hunters.  He began with those whose removal was least likely to attract attention, leaving the Princesse de Lamballe, from motives of policy, to the last.

Meanwhile, other messengers had been dispatched to different quarters for fear of failure with Manuel.  It was discovered by one of these that the atrocious tribunal,—­[Thibaudeau, Hebert, Simonier, etc.]—­who sat in mock judgment upon the tenants of these gloomy abodes, after satiating themselves with every studied insult they could devise, were to pronounce the word “libre!” It was naturally presumed that the predestined victims, on hearing this tempting sound, and seeing the doors at the same moment set open by the clerks of the infamous court, would dart off in exultation, and, fancying themselves liberated, rush upon the knives of the barbarians, who were outside, in waiting for their blood!  Hundreds were thus slaughtered.

To save the Princess from such a sacrifice, it was projected to prevent her from appearing before the tribunal, and a belief was encouraged that means would be devised to elude the necessity.  The person who interested himself for her safety contrived to convey a letter containing these words:  “Let what will happen, for God’s sake do not quit your cell.  You will be spared.  Adieu.”