[Petion was the Mayor of Paris, and Mandat on this day was commandant of the National Guard.  Mandat was assassinated that night.—­“Thiers,” vol. i., p. 260.]

M. Mandat was armed with this order; and, finding his fidelity to the King’s person supported by what he considered the law of the State, he conducted himself in all his operations with the greatest energy.  On the evening of the 9th I was present at the King’s supper.  While his Majesty was giving me various orders we heard a great noise at the door of the apartment.  I went to see what was the cause of it, and found the two sentinels fighting.  One said, speaking of the King, that he was hearty in the cause of the constitution, and would defend it at the peril of his life; the other maintained that he was an encumbrance to the only constitution suitable to a free people.  They were almost ready to cut one another’s throats.  I returned with a countenance which betrayed my emotion.  The King desired to know what was going forward at his door; I could not conceal it from him.  The Queen said she was not at all surprised at it, and that more than half the guard belonged to the Jacobin party.

The tocsin sounded at midnight.  The Swiss were drawn up like walls; and in the midst of their soldierlike silence, which formed a striking contrast with the perpetual din of the town guard, the King informed M. de J-----, an officer of the staff, of the plan of defence laid down by General Viomenil.  M. de J----- said to me, after this private conference, “Put your jewels and money into your pockets; our dangers are unavoidable; the means of defence are nil; safety might be obtained by some degree of energy in the King, but that is the only virtue in which he is deficient.”

An hour after midnight the Queen and Madame Elisabeth said they would lie down on a sofa in a room in the entresols, the windows of which commanded the courtyard of the Tuileries.

The Queen told me the King had just refused to put on his quilted under-waistcoat; that he had consented to wear it on the 14th of July because he was merely going to a ceremony where the blade of an assassin was to be apprehended, but that on a day on which his party might fight against the revolutionists he thought there was something cowardly in preserving his life by such means.

During this time Madame Elisabeth disengaged herself from some of her clothing which encumbered her in order to lie down on the sofa:  she took a cornelian pin out of her cape, and before she laid it down on the table she showed it to me, and desired me to read a motto engraved upon it round a stalk of lilies.  The words were, “Oblivion of injuries; pardon for offences.”—­“I much fear,” added that virtuous Princess, “this maxim has but little influence among our enemies; but it ought not to be less dear to us on that account.”