achment,' how was it scornfully whiffed aside! Before
supper, this night, he writes to President Bailly, a new Letter, to be
delivered shortly after dawn tomorrow, in the King's name. Which Letter,
however, Bailly in the pride of office, will merely crush together into
his pocket, like a bill he does not mean to pay.

Accordingly on Saturday morning the 20th of June, shrill-sounding
heralds proclaim through the streets of Versailles, that there is to be
a Seance Royale next Monday; and no meeting of the States-General till
then. And yet, we observe, President Bailly in sound of this, and with
De Breze's Letter in his pocket, is proceeding, with National Assembly
at his heels, to the accustomed Salles des Menus; as if De Breze and
heralds were mere wind. It is shut, this Salle; occupied by Gardes
Francaises. "Where is your Captain?" The Captain shows his royal order:
workmen, he is grieved to say, are all busy setting up the platform for
his Majesty's Seance; most unfortunately, no admission; admission, at
furthest, for President and Secretaries to bring away papers, which the
joiners might destroy!--President Bailly enters with Secretaries;
and returns bearing papers: alas, within doors, instead of patriotic
eloquence, there is now no noise but hammering, sawing, and operative
screeching and rumbling! A profanation without parallel.

The Deputies stand grouped on the Paris Road, on this umbrageous Avenue
de Versailles; complaining aloud of the indignity done them. Courtiers,
it is supposed, look from their windows, and giggle. The morning is
none of the comfortablest: raw; it is even drizzling a little. (Bailly,
Memoires, i. 185-206.) But all travellers pause; patriot gallery-men,
miscellaneous spectators increase the groups. Wild counsels alternate.
Some desperate Deputies propose to go and hold session on the great
outer Staircase at Marly, under the King's windows; for his Majesty,
it seems, has driven over thither. Others talk of making the Chateau
Forecourt, what they call Place d'Armes, a Runnymede and new Champ
de Mai of free Frenchmen: nay of awakening, to sounds of indignant
Patriotism, the echoes of the Oeil-de-boeuf itself.--Notice is given
that President Bailly, aided by judicious Guillotin and others, has
found place in the Tennis-Court of the Rue St. Francois. Thither, in
long-drawn files, hoarse-jingling, like cranes on wing, the Commons
Deputies angrily wend.

Strange sight was this in the Rue St. Fran