. These horrible women said yesterday at
midnight, upon the site of the Bastille, that they must have their revenge
for the 6th of October, at Versailles, and that they had sworn to kill the
Queen and all the women attached to her; the danger of the action saved
you all."

As I crossed the Carrousel, I saw my house in flames; but as soon as the
first moment of affright was over, I thought no more of my personal
misfortunes. My ideas turned solely upon the dreadful situation of the
Queen.

On reaching my sister's we found all our family in despair, believing they
should never see us again. I could not remain in her house; some of the
mob, collected round the door, exclaimed that Marie Antoinette's
confidante was in the house, and that they must have her head. I
disguised myself, and was concealed in the house of M. Morel, secretary
for the lotteries. On the morrow I was inquired for there, in the name of
the Queen. A deputy, whose sentiments were known to her, took upon
himself to find me out.

I borrowed clothes, and went with my sister to the Feuillans--[A former
monastery near the Tuileries, so called from the Bernardines, one of the
Cistercian orders; later a revolutionary club.]--We got there at the same
time with M. Thierry de Ville d'Avray, the King's first valet de chambre.
We were taken into an office, where we wrote down our names and places of
abode, and we received tickets for admission into the rooms belonging to
Camus, the keeper of the Archives, where the King was with his family.

As we entered the first room, a person who was there said to me, "Ah!
you are a brave woman; but where is that Thierry, that man loaded with
his master's bounties?"

[M. Thierry, who never ceased to give his sovereign proofs of unalterable
attachment, was one of the victims of the 2d of September.--MADAME
CAMPAN.]

"He is here," said I; "he is following me. I perceive that even scenes
of death do not banish jealousy from among you."

Having belonged to the Court from my earliest youth, I was known to many
persons whom I did not know. As I traversed a corridor above the
cloisters which led to the cells inhabited by the unfortunate Louis XVI.
and his family, several of the grenadiers called me by name. One of them
said to me, "Well, the poor King is lost! The Comte d'Artois would have
managed it better."--"Not at all," said another.

The royal family occupied a small suite of apartments consisting of four
cells