As soon as I was sufficiently recovered, places were taken for me and another person in one of the common diligences, by which I was conveyed to Passy, where the Princess came to me in the greatest confusion.

My companion in the palace was the widow of one of the Swiss guards, who had been murdered on the 6th of October, in defending the Queen’s apartment at Versailles.  The poor woman had been herself protected by Her Majesty, and accompanied me by the express order of the Princesse de Lamballe.  What the Princess said to her on departing, I know not, for I only caught the words “general insurrection,” on hearing which the afflicted woman fell into a fit.  To me, Her Highness merely exclaimed, “Do not come to Paris till you hear from me;” and immediately set off to return to the Tuileries.

However, as usual, my courage soon got the better of my strength, and of every consideration of personal safety.  On the third day, I proposed to the person who took care of me that we should both walk out together, and, if there appeared no symptoms of immediate danger, it was agreed that we might as well get into one of the common conveyances, and proceed forthwith to Paris; for I could no longer repress my anxiety to learn what was going on there, and the good creature who was with me was no less impatient.

When we got into a diligence, I felt the dread of another severe lecture like the last, and thought it best not to incur fresh blame by new imprudence.  I therefore told the driver to set us down on the high road near Paris leading to the Bois de Boulogne.  But before we got so far, the woods resounded with the howling of mobs, and we heard, “Vive le roi” vociferated, mingled with “Down with the King,”—­“Down with the Queen;” and, what was still more horrible, the two parties were in actual bloody strife, and the ground was strewn with the bodies of dead men, lying like slaughtered sheep.

It was fortunate that we were the only persons in the vehicle.  The driver, observing our extreme agitation, turned round to us.  “Nay, nay,” cried he; “do not alarm yourselves.  It is only the constitutionalists and the Jacobins fighting against each other.  I wish the devil had them both.”

It was evident, however, that, though the man was desirous of quieting our apprehensions, he was considerably disturbed by his own; for though he acknowledged he had a wife and children in Paris, who he hoped were safe, still he dared not venture to proceed, but said, if we wished to be driven back, he would take us to any place we liked, out of Paris.

Our anxiety to know what was going forward at the Tuileries was now become intolerable; and the more so, from the necessity we felt of restraining our feelings.  At last, however, we were in some degree relieved from this agony of reserve.

“God knows,” exclaimed the driver, “what will be the consequence of all this bloodshed!  The poor King and Queen are greatly to be pitied!”