had already felt a horrid hand thrust into my back to seize me by my
clothes, when some one called out from the bottom of the staircase, "What
are you doing above there? We don't kill women." I was on my knees; my
executioner quitted his hold of me, and said, "Get up, you jade; the
nation pardons you."

The brutality of these words did not prevent my suddenly experiencing an
indescribable feeling which partook almost equally of the love of life and
the idea that I was going to see my son, and all that was dear to me,
again. A moment before I had thought less of death than of the pain which
the steel, suspended over my head, would occasion me. Death is seldom
seen so close without striking his blow. I heard every syllable uttered
by the assassins, just as if I had been calm.

Five or six men seized me and my companions, and, having made us get up on
benches placed before the windows, ordered us to call out, "The nation for
ever!"

I passed over several corpses; I recognised that of the old Vicomte de
Broves, to whom the Queen had sent me at the beginning of the night to
desire him and another old man in her name to go home. These brave men
desired I would tell her Majesty that they had but too strictly obeyed the
King's orders in all circumstances under which they ought to have exposed
their own lives in order to preserve his; and that for this once they
would not obey, though they would cherish the recollection of the Queen's
goodness.

Near the grille, on the side next the bridge, the men who conducted me
asked whither I wished to go. Upon my inquiring, in my turn, whether they
were at liberty to take me wherever I might wish to go, one of them, a
Marseillais, asked me, giving me at the same time a push with the butt end
of his musket, whether I still doubted the power of the people? I
answered "No," and I mentioned the number of my brother-in-law's house. I
saw my sister ascending the steps of the parapet of the bridge, surrounded
by members of the National Guard. I called to her, and she turned round.
"Would you have her go with you?" said my guardian to me. I told him I did
wish it. They called the people who were leading my sister to prison; she
joined me.

Madame de la Roche-Aymon and her daughter, Mademoiselle Pauline de
Tourzel, Madame de Ginestoux, lady to the Princesse de Lamballe, the other
women of the Queen, and the old Comte d'Affry, were led off together to
the Abbaye.

Our progress from