terrible news to the King,” he says; “but time was pressing, and he had forbidden my concealing anything from him.  In the evening, while undressing him, I gave him an account of all I had learnt, and added that there were only four days to concert some plan of corresponding with the Queen.  The arrival of the municipal officer would not allow me to say more.  Next morning, when the King rose, I could not get a moment for speaking with him.  He went up with his son to breakfast with the Princesses, and I followed.  After breakfast he talked long with the Queen, who, by a look full of trouble, made me understand that they were discussing what I had told the King.  During the day I found an opportunity of describing to Madame Elisabeth how much it had cost me to augment the King’s distresses by informing him of his approaching trial.  She reassured me, saying that the King felt this as a mark of attachment on my part, and added, ’That which most troubles him is the fear of being separated from us.’  In the evening the King told me how satisfied he was at having had warning that he was to appear before the Convention.  ‘Continue,’ he said, ’to endeavour to find out something as to what they want to do with me.  Never fear distressing me.  I have agreed with my family not to seem pre-informed, in order not to compromise you.’”

On the 11th December, at five o’clock in the morning, the prisoners heard the generale beaten throughout Paris, and cavalry and cannon entered the Temple gardens.  At nine the King and the Dauphin went as usual to breakfast with the Queen.  They were allowed to remain together for an hour, but constantly under the eyes of their republican guardians.  At last they were obliged to part, doubtful whether they would ever see each other again.  The little Prince, who remained with his father, and was ignorant of the new cause for anxiety, begged hard that the King would play at ninepins with him as usual.  Twice the Dauphin could not get beyond a certain number.  “Each time that I get up to sixteen,” he said, with some vexation, “I lose the game.”  The King did not reply, but Clery fancied the words made a painful impression on him.

At eleven, while the King was giving the Dauphin a reading lesson, two municipal officers entered and said they had come “to take young Louis to his mother.”  The King inquired why, but was only told that such were the orders of the Council.  At one o’clock the Mayor of Paris, Chambon, accompanied by Chaumette, Procureur de la Commune, Santerre, commandant of the National Guard, and others, arrived at the Temple and read a decree to the King, which ordered that “Louis Capet” should be brought before the Convention.  “Capet is not my name,” he replied, “but that of one of my ancestors.  I could have wished,” he added, “that you had left my son with me during the last two hours.  But this treatment is consistent with all I have experienced here.  I follow you, not because I recognise the authority