"The rabble leaders insisted that the king should go with them to Paris.
Monsieur La Fayette was now awake; and he gave it as his opinion that
this was the only mode of pleasing the populace. When a king submits to
popular will, he is disgraced; and a disgraced king is undone. It was
now broad day; the struggle was at an end; the royal carriages were
ordered, and the _garde-du-corps_ were drawn up to follow them. At this
moment, the barrel-organ man, my leader of the night, passed me by with
a grimace, and whispered, 'Brother Fédéré, did I not tell you how it
would be? The play is only beginning; all that we have seen is the
farce.' He laughed, and disappeared among the crowd.

"There was one misery to come, and it was the worst; the procession to
Paris lasted almost twelve hours. It was like the march of American
savages, with their scalps and prisoners, to their wigwams. The crowd
had been largely increased by the national guards of the neighbouring
villages, and by thousands flocking from Paris on the intelligence of
the rabble victory. Our escort was useless; we ourselves were prisoners.
Surrounding the carriage of the king, thousands of the most profligate
refuse of Paris, men and women, railed and revelled, sang and shouted
the most furious insults to their majesties. And in front of this mass
were carried on pikes, as standards, the heads of two of our corps, who
had fallen fighting at the door of the queen's chamber. Loaves, borne on
pikes, and dipped in blood, formed others of their standards. Huge
placards, with the words, 'Down with the tyrant! Down with the priests!
Down with the nobles!' waved above the heads of the multitude. 'Make way
for the baker, his wife, and the little apprentice,' was shouted, with
every addition of obloquy and insolence; and in this agony we were
forced to drag on our weary steps till midnight. One abomination more
was to signalize the inhuman spirit of the time. Within about a league