I was horrified to see the great carriages, with six or eight horses, still driven by the wretched coachmen and postilions, in their state liveries, enter the Place du Palais-Royal—­believing as I did that they were bringing back the King and his family as prisoners, into the very jaws of the Revolution.  But, happily, this was not the case.  The only people in the carriages were some young blackguards, dressed up in extraordinary garments, dressing-gowns and cotton caps, and I know not what other masquerading trash, intended to call forth the ribald jokes of the multitude.  It was a disgusting scene.  The days passed on, and by degrees Paris returned to its ordinary life.  The streets were repaired, vehicles began to circulate again.  Soldiers, gendarmes, policemen, were to be seen once more, and a certain sense of security revived.  At all events the eternal struggle of order against disorder began afresh.  Those who formed the most turbulent element of the Revolutionary party were induced, by degrees, to engage in the army, and were drafted off to Algiers, under the title of “Regiments de la Charte.”  It was less easy to get rid of a Guard of Honour, numbering some two or three hundred men, which had formed itself on its own responsibility, nominally for the protection of my father and of the Palais-Royal.  This guard was always in the vestibule and on the staircase, night and day alike.  It was an omnium gatherum of vagabonds, prowling ruffians of the vilest kind, ragged scamps, all carrying arms, stolen from every sort of place, among others from the Musee d’Artillerie, whence some had gone so far as to borrow cuirasses and helmets that had belonged to the warriors of the League.  Of course they all had to be fed and paid.  The chief of the band was a midshipman in the navy, on leave in Paris at the time the Revolution broke out, of the name of Damiguet de Vernon, who died afterwards with the rank of general in the army.  Whenever my father went out, to go to the Chamber of Deputies or elsewhere, this rabble turned out and saluted after a fashion of its own, with drums beating and trumpets blowing.  It was a scene quite worthy of Callot’s pencil.  To get rid of this worthy set, the midshipman was at once given a lieutenant’s commission in the mounted Municipal Guard, under pretext of a reward from the nation, and clothes were bestowed on his band, wherewith they hastened to decamp on the first sign of the introduction of anything like discipline into their ranks.

Our regular routine began again too.  After over a week’s holiday, I was put back to school, where we immediately made a revolution of our own, by insisting that the bell which rang for class and mealtimes should be replaced by a drum.  If, as I went into school with my folding desk under my arm, I came across the column of big boys coming down from their class-rooms, I used to get many a cuff to the tune of “Take that, your young Majesty!” or the slang saying of the day, “Have you seen