valet de chambre cried out to her from the corridor, “Madame, it is a wretch that I know; I have him!”—­“Let him go,” said the Queen; “open the door to him; he came to murder me; the Jacobins would carry him about in triumph to-morrow.”  The man was a servant of the King’s toilet, who had taken the key of the corridor out of his Majesty’s pocket after he was in bed, no doubt with the intention of committing the crime suspected.  The valet de chambre, who was a very strong man, held him by the wrists, and thrust him out at the door.  The wretch did not speak a word.  The valet de chambre said, in answer to the Queen, who spoke to him gratefully of the danger to which he had exposed himself, that he feared nothing, and that he had always a pair of excellent pistols about him for no other purpose than to defend her Majesty.  The next day M. de Septeuil had all the locks of the King’s inner apartments changed.  I did the same by those of the Queen.

We were every moment told that the Faubourg St. Antoine was preparing to march against the palace.  At four o’clock one morning towards the latter end of July a person came to give me information to that effect.  I instantly sent off two men, on whom I could rely, with orders to proceed to the usual places for assembling, and to come back speedily and give me an account of the state of the city.  We knew that at least an hour must elapse before the populace or the faubourgs assembled on the site of the Bastille could reach the Tuileries.  It seemed to me sufficient for the Queen’s safety that all about her should be awakened.  I went softly into her room; she was asleep; I did not awaken her.  I found General de W——­in the great closet; he told me the meeting was, for this once, dispersing.  The General had endeavoured to please the populace by the same means as M. de La Fayette had employed.  He saluted the lowest poissarde, and lowered his hat down to his very stirrup.  But the populace, who had been flattered for three years, required far different homage to its power, and the poor man was unnoticed.  The King had been awakened, and so had Madame Elisabeth, who had gone to him.  The Queen, yielding to the weight of her griefs, slept till nine o’clock on that day, which was very unusual with her.  The King had already been to know whether she was awake; I told him what I had done, and the care I had taken not to disturb her.  He thanked me, and said, “I was awake, and so was the whole palace; she ran no risk.  I am very glad to see her take a little rest.  Alas! her griefs double mine!” What was my chagrin when, upon awaking and learning what had passed, the Queen burst into tears from regret at not having been called, and began to upbraid me, on whose friendship she ought to have been able to rely, for having served her so ill under such circumstances!  In vain did I reiterate that it had been only a false alarm, and that she required to have her strength recruited.  “It is not diminished,” said she; “misfortune gives us additional strength.  Elisabeth was with the King, and I was asleep,—­I who am determined to perish by his side!  I am his wife; I will not suffer him to incur the smallest risk without my sharing it.”