[The exalted piety of Madame Elisabeth gave to all she said and did a noble character, descriptive of that of her soul.  On the day on which this worthy descendant of Saint Louis was sacrificed, the executioner, in tying her hands behind her, raised up one of the ends of her handkerchief.  Madame Elisabeth, with calmness, and in a voice which seemed not to belong to earth, said to him, “In the name of modesty, cover my bosom.”  I learned this from Madame de Serilly, who was condemned the same day as the Princess, but who obtained a respite at the moment of the execution, Madame de Montmorin, her relation, declaring that her cousin was enceinte.-Madame Campan.]

The Queen desired me to sit down by her; the two Princesses could not sleep; they were conversing mournfully upon their situation when a musket was discharged in the courtyard.  They both quitted the sofa, saying, “There is the first shot, unfortunately it will not be the last; let us go up to the King.”  The Queen desired me to follow her; several of her women went with me.

At four o’clock the Queen came out of the King’s chamber and told us she had no longer any hope; that M. Mandat, who had gone to the Hotel de Ville to receive further orders, had just been assassinated, and that the people were at that time carrying his head about the streets.  Day came.  The King, the Queen, Madame Elisabeth, Madame, and the Dauphin went down to pass through the ranks of the sections of the National Guard; the cry of “Vive le Roi!” was heard from a few places.  I was at a window on the garden side; I saw some of the gunners quit their posts, go up to the King, and thrust their fists in his face, insulting him by the most brutal language.  Messieurs de Salvert and de Bridges drove them off in a spirited manner.  The King was as pale as a corpse.  The royal family came in again.  The Queen told me that all was lost; that the King had shown no energy; and that this sort of review had done more harm than good.

I was in the billiard-room with my companions; we placed ourselves upon some high benches.  I then saw M. d’Hervilly with a drawn sword in his hand, ordering the usher to open the door to the French noblesse.  Two hundred persons entered the room nearest to that in which the family were; others drew up in two lines in the preceding rooms.  I saw a few people belonging to the Court, many others whose features were unknown to me, and a few who figured technically without right among what was called the noblesse, but whose self-devotion ennobled them at once.  They were all so badly armed that even in that situation the indomitable French liveliness indulged in jests.  M. de Saint-Souplet, one of the King’s equerries, and a page, carried on their shoulders instead of muskets the tongs belonging to the King’s antechamber, which they had broken and divided between them.  Another page, who had a pocket-pistol in his hand, stuck the end of it