o the horrors from which they had fled. The road was lined on
either side by countless thousands, insulting the agonized victims with
derision, menaces, and the most ferocious gestures. Varennes is distant
from Paris one hundred and eighty miles, and for this whole distance, by
night and by day, with hardly an hour's delay for food or repose, the
royal family were exposed to the keenest torture of which the spiritual
nature is in this world susceptible. Every revolution of the wheels but
brought them into contact with fresh vociferations of calumny. The fury
of the populace was so great that it was with difficulty that the guard
could protect their captives from the most merciless massacre. Again and
again there was a rush made at the carriages, and the mob was beaten
back by the arms of the soldiers. One old gentleman, M. Dampierre, ever
accustomed to venerate royalty, stood by the road side, affected by the
profoundest grief in view of the melancholy spectacle. Uncovering his
gray hairs, he bowed respectfully to his royal master, and ventured to
give utterance to accents of sympathy. The infuriated populace fell upon
him like tigers, and tore him to pieces before the eyes of the king and
queen. The wheels of the royal carriage came very near running over his
bleeding corpse.

The procession was at length met by commissioners sent from the Assembly
to take charge of the king. Ashamed of the brutality of the people,
Barnave and Petion, the two commissioners, entered the royal carriage to
share the danger of its inmates. They shielded the prisoners from death,
but they could not shield them from insult and outrage. An
ecclesiastic, venerable in person and in character, approached the
carriages as they moved sadly along, and exhibited upon his features
some traces of respect and sorrow for fallen royalty. It was a mortal
offense. The brutal multitude would not endure a _look_ even of sympathy
for the descendant of a hundred kings. They rushed upon the defenseless
clergyman, and would have killed him instantly had not Barnave most
energetically interfered. "Frenchmen!" he shouted, from the carriage
windows, "will you, a nation of brave men, become a people of
murderers!" Barnave was a young man of much nobleness of character. His
polished manners, and his sympathy for the wrecked and ruined family of
the king, quite won their gratitude. Petion, on the contrary, was coarse
and brutal. He was a _Democrat_ in the worst sense o