at Sevres, and carried their cruelty to the length of forcing an unfortunate hairdresser to dress the gory heads; the bulk of the Parisian army followed them closely.  The King’s carriage was preceded by the ‘poissardes’, who had arrived the day before from Paris, and a rabble of prostitutes, the vile refuse of their sex, still drunk with fury and wine.  Several of them rode astride upon cannons, boasting, in the most horrible songs, of the crimes they had committed themselves, or seen others commit.  Those who were nearest the King’s carriage sang ballads, the allusions in which by means of their vulgar gestures they applied to the Queen.  Wagons, full of corn and flour,—­which had been brought into Versailles, formed a train escorted by grenadiers, and surrounded by women and bullies, some armed with pikes, and some carrying long branches of poplar.  At some distance this part of the procession had a most singular effect:  it looked like a moving forest, amidst which shone pike-heads and gun-barrels.  In the paroxysms of their brutal joy the women stopped passengers, and, pointing to the King’s carriage, howled in their ears:  “Cheer up, friends; we shall no longer be in want of bread!  We bring you the baker, the baker’s wife, and the baker’s little boy!” Behind his Majesty’s carriage were several of his faithful Guards, some on foot, and some on horseback, most of them uncovered, all unarmed, and worn out with hunger and fatigue; the dragoons, the Flanders regiment, the hundred Swiss, and the National Guards preceded, accompanied, or followed the file of carriages.  I witnessed this heartrending spectacle; I saw the ominous procession.  In the midst of all the tumult, clamour, and singing, interrupted by frequent discharges of musketry, which the hand of a monster or a bungler might so easily render fatal, I saw the Queen preserving most courageous tranquillity of soul, and an air of nobleness and inexpressible dignity, and my eyes were suffused with tears of admiration and grief.—­“Memoirs of Bertrand de Molleville.”]

The progress of the procession was so slow that it was near six in the evening when this august family, made prisoners by their own people, arrived at the Hotel de Ville.  Bailly received them there; they were placed upon a throne, just when that of their ancestors had been overthrown.  The King spoke in a firm yet gracious manner; he said that he always came with pleasure and confidence among the inhabitants of his good city of Paris.  M. Bailly repeated this observation to the representatives of the commune, who came to address the King; but he forgot the word confidence.  The Queen instantly and loudly reminded him of the omission.  The King and Queen, their children, and Madame Elisabeth, retired to the Tuileries.  Nothing was ready for their reception there.  All the living-rooms had been long given up to persons belonging to the Court; they hastily quitted them on that day, leaving their furniture, which was purchased by the Court.  The Comtesse de la Marck, sister to the Marechaux de Noailles and de Mouchy, had occupied the apartments now appropriated to the Queen.  Monsieur and Madame retired to the Luxembourg.