consisting of deputies of the revolutionary party.  M. de Gouvion, major-general of the National Guard, passed almost every day with her; and it is to be presumed that she had long worked for the party in opposition to the Court.  The Queen asked her for the key of a door which led to the principal vestibule of the Tuileries, telling her she wished to have a similar one, that she might not be under the necessity of going out through the pavilion of Flora.  M. de Gouvion and M. de La Fayette would, of course, be apprised of this circumstance, and well-informed persons have assured me that on the very night of the Queen’s departure this wretched woman had a spy with her, who saw the royal family set off.

As soon as I had executed all the Queen’s orders, on the 30th of May, 1791, I set out for Auvergne, and was settled in the gloomy narrow valley of Mont d’Or, when, about four in the afternoon of the 25th of June, I heard the beat of a drum to call the inhabitants of the hamlet together.  When it had ceased I heard a hairdresser from Bresse proclaim in the provincial dialect of Auvergne:  “The King and Queen were taking flight in order to ruin France, but I come to tell you that they are stopped, and are well guarded by a hundred thousand men under arms.”  I still ventured to hope that he was repeating only a false report, but he went on:  “The Queen,” with her well-known haughtiness, lifted up the veil which covered her face, and said to the citizens who were upbraiding the King, “Well, since you recognise your sovereign, respect him.”  Upon hearing these expressions, which the Jacobin club of Clermont could not have invented, I exclaimed, “The news is true!”

I immediately learnt that, a courier being come from Paris to Clermont, the ‘procureur’ of the commune had sent off messengers to the chief places of the canton; these again sent couriers to the districts, and the districts in like manner informed the villages and hamlets which they contained.  It was through this ramification, arising from the establishment of clubs, that the afflicting intelligence of the misfortune of my sovereigns reached me in the wildest part of France, and in the midst of the snows by which we were environed.

On the 28th I received a note written in a hand which I recognised as that of M. Diet,—­[This officer was slain in the Queen’s chamber on the 10th of August]—­usher of the Queen’s chamber, but dictated by her Majesty.  It contained these words:  “I am this moment arrived; I have just got into my bath; I and my family exist, that is all.  I have suffered much.  Do not return to Paris until I desire you.  Take good care of my poor Campan, soothe his sorrow.  Look for happier times.”  This note was for greater safety addressed to my father-in-law’s valet-de-chambre.  What were my feelings on perceiving that after the most distressing crisis we were among the first objects of the kindness of that unfortunate Princess!