rest himself by this time to-morrow."

"Well, then," replied I, "he is in the Pavilion of Flora."

"What, with the Princesse de Lamballe? Oh, I would go through fire and
water for that good Princess! She has done me the honour to stand
godmother to one of my children, and allows her a pension."

I took him at his word. We changed our quarters to his father's house, a
very neat little cottage, about a quarter of a mile from the town. He
afterwards rendered me many services in going to and fro from Passy to
Paris; and, as he promised, brought me my servant.

When the poor fellow arrived, his arm was in a sling. He had been
wounded by a musket shot, received in defence of the Princess. The
history of his disaster was this:

On the night of the riot, as he was going from the Pont Royal to the
apartment of Her Highness, he detected a group of villains under her
windows. Six of them were attempting to enter by a ladder. He fired,
and two fell. While he was reloading, the others shot at him. Had he
not, in the flurry of the moment, fired both his pistols at the same
time, he thinks he should not have been wounded, but might have punished
the assailant. One of the men, he said, could have been easily taken by
the national guard, who so glaringly encouraged the escape that he could
almost swear the guard was a party concerned. The loss of blood had so
exhausted him that he could not pursue the offender himself, whom
otherwise he could have taken without any difficulty.

As the employing of my servant had only been proposed, and the sudden