when the Princes were passing
through, and I saw them approach my sofa, one after another; I heard
their expressions of kindness and good will toward me, and noticed what
care they took not to disturb my slumber."

Poor Marie Antoinette! Could one believe that a Queen of France would
be reduced to keeping a little dog in her bedroom to warn her of the
least noise in her apartment? The Dauphin, delighted to {261} have his
mother sleep so near him, used to run to her as soon as he awoke, and
clasping her in his little arms would say the most affectionate things.
This was the only moment of the day that brought her any consolation.

By the end of July, both the Queen and her children were obliged to
give up walking in the garden. She had gone out to take the air with
her daughter in the Dauphin's small parterre at the extreme end of the
Tuileries, close to the Place Louis XV. Some federates grossly
insulted her. Four Swiss officers made their way through the crowd,
and placing the Queen and the young Princess between them, brought them
back to the palace. When she reached her apartments, Marie Antoinette
thanked her defenders in the most affecting terms, but she never went
out again.

After June 20, the garden, excepting the terrace of the Feuillants,
which, by a decree of the Assembly, had become a part of its precincts,
had been forbidden to the populace. Posters warned the people to
remain on the terrace and not go down into the garden. The terrace was
called National Ground, and the garden the Land of Coblentz.
Inscriptions apprised passers-by of this novel topography. Tri-colored
ribbons had been tied to the banisters of the staircases by way of
barriers. Placards were fastened at intervals to the trees bordering
the terrace, whereon could be read: "Citizens, respect yourselves; give
the force of bayonets to this feeble barrier. Citizens, do {262} not
go into this foreign land, this Coblentz, abode of corruption." The
leaders had such an empire over the crowd that no one disobeyed. And
yet it was the height of summer, the trees offered their verdant shade,
and the King had withdrawn all his guards and opened every gate.
Nobody dared infringe the revolutionary mandate. One young man, paying
no attention, went down into the garden. Furious clamors broke out on
all sides. "To the lamp-post with him!" cried some one on the terrace.
Thereupon the young man, taking off his shoes, drew out his
handkerchief