The courtyards of the Chateau were thronged with an immense concourse of people; they demanded that the King and Queen, with their children, should make their appearance in the balcony.  The Queen gave me the key of the inner doors, which led to the Dauphin’s apartments, and desired me to go to the Duchesse de Polignac to tell her that she wanted her son, and had directed me to bring him myself into her room, where she waited to show him to the people.  The Duchess said this order indicated that she was not to accompany the Prince.  I did not answer; she squeezed my hand, saying, “Ah!  Madame Campan, what a blow I receive!” She embraced the child and me with tears.  She knew how much I loved and valued the goodness and the noble simplicity of her disposition.  I endeavoured to reassure her by saying that I should bring back the Prince to her; but she persisted, and said she understood the order, and knew what it meant.  She then retired to her private room, holding her handkerchief to her eyes.  One of the under-governesses asked me whether she might go with the Dauphin; I told her the Queen had given no order to the contrary, and we hastened to her Majesty, who was waiting to lead the Prince to the balcony.

Having executed this sad commission, I went down into the courtyard, where I mingled with the crowd.  I heard a thousand vociferations; it was easy to see, by the difference between the language and the dress of some persons among the mob, that they were in disguise.  A woman, whose face was covered with a black lace veil, seized me by the arm with some violence, and said, calling me by my name, “I know you very well; tell your Queen not to meddle with government any longer; let her leave her husband and our good States General to effect the happiness of the people.”  At the same moment a man, dressed much in the style of a marketman, with his hat pulled down over his eyes, seized me by the other arm, and said, “Yes, yes; tell her over and over again that it will not be with these States as with the others, which produced no good to the people; that the nation is too enlightened in 1789 not to make something more of them; and that there will not now be seen a deputy of the ’Tiers Etat’ making a speech with one knee on the ground; tell her this, do you hear?” I was struck with dread; the Queen then appeared in the balcony.  “Ah!” said the woman in the veil, “the Duchess is not with her.”—­“No,” replied the man, “but she is still at Versailles; she is working underground, molelike; but we shall know how to dig her out.”  The detestable pair moved away from me, and I reentered the palace, scarcely able to support myself.  I thought it my duty to relate the dialogue of these two strangers to the Queen; she made me repeat the particulars to the King.