s to the very tips
of her ears. "But on that evening roturiers were in demand--popularity
was every thing; the _bourgeoisie_ of Versailles were polished by their
friction against the _garde du corps_. And I am sure, that if the same
experiment, distressing as it might be, were tried in every opera salon
in the provinces, and we had longer dances and shorter harangues, more
fiddles and fewer patriots, all would be well again in our 'belle
France.'"

"But--your news, monsieur le capitaine," was the demand all round the
table.

"I almost dread to allude to it," said the captain, "as it may seem to
contradict the opinion of madame la duchesse; yet I am afraid that we
shall have to regret this fete as one of the most disastrous events to
the king." He stopped. But the interest of the time overcame all other
considerations. "Ah, gallantry apart, let us hear!" was the general
voice; and, with every eye instantly fixed on him, and in the midst of
lips breathless with anxiety, and bosoms beating with terror at every
turn of the tale, the captain gave us his fearful narrative:--

"The banquet of the 1st of October," said he, "had delighted us all; but
its consequences, which, I quite agree with madame, ought to have
restored peace, were fatal. It lulled Versailles into a false security,
at the moment when it roused Paris into open rebellion. The leaders of
the populace, dreading the return of the national attachment to our good
king, resolved to strike a blow which should shake the monarchy.
Happening to be sent to Paris on duty next day, I was astonished to find
every thing in agitation--The workmen all in the streets; the orators of
the Palais Royal all on their benches, declaiming in the most furious
manner. Crowds of women rushing along the Boulevards, singing their
barbarous revolutionary songs; some even brandishing knives and carrying
pikes, and all frantic against the fete. As I passed down the Rue St
Honore, I stopped to listen to the harangue of a half-naked ruffian, who
had made a rostrum of the shoulders of two of the porters of the Halle,
and, from this moving tribune, harangued the multitude as he went along.
Every falsehood, calumny, and abomination that could come from the lips
of man, were poured out by the wretch before me. The sounds of 'Vive
Marat!' told me his name. I afterwards heard that he lived on the
profits of a low journal, in a cellar, with a gang of wretches
constantly drunk, and thus was only the