"The king is wounded," he said, "and he has been taken to his room. The
assassin, whom nobody knows, is under arrest. M. de la Martiniere is
being looked for everywhere."

As soon as I had got back to my coach, and was thinking myself lucky for
being there, a gentlemanly-looking young man came up to me and besought
me to give him a seat in my coach, and he would gladly pay half the fare;
but in spite of the laws of politeness I refused his request. I may
possibly have been wrong. On any other occasion I should have been most
happy to give him a place, but there are times when prudence does not
allow one to be polite. I was about three hours on the way, and in this
short time I was overtaken every minute by at least two hundred couriers
riding at a breakneck pace. Every minute brought a new courier, and every
courier shouted his news to the winds. The first told me what I already
knew; then I heard that the king had been bled, that the wound was not
mortal, and finally, that the wound was trifling, and that his majesty
could go to the Trianon if he liked.

Fortified with this good news, I went to Silvia's and found the family at
table. I told them I had just come from Versailles.

"The king has been assassinated."

"Not at all; he is able to go to the Trianon, or the Parc-aux-cerfs, if
he likes. M. de la Martiniere has bled him, and found him to be in no
danger. The assassin has been arrested, and the wretched man will be
burnt, drawn with red-hot pincers, and quartered."

This news was soon spread abroad by Silvia's servants, and a crowd of the