avail against this frenzy. I remember once (as if it were from a
presentiment of what was to occur) the King observing to her, "I never
knew any but fools and sycophants who could keep themselves clear from
the lash of public censure. How is it, then, that you, my dear Princess,
who are neither, contrive to steer your bark on this dangerous coast
without running against the rocks on which so many good vessels like your
own have been dashed to pieces?" "Oh, Sire," replied Her Highness, "my
time is not yet come--I am not dead yet!" Too soon, and too horribly, her
hour did come!

The butchery of the prisons was now commenced. The Duc de Penthievre set
every engine in operation to save his beloved daughter-in-law. He sent
for Manuel, who was then Procureur of Paris. The Duke declared that half
his fortune should be Manuel's if he could but save the Princesse de
Lamballe and the ladies who were in the same prison with her from the
general massacre. Manuel promised the Duke that he would instantly set
about removing them all from the reach of the blood-hunters. He began
with those whose removal was least likely to attract attention, leaving
the Princesse de Lamballe, from motives of policy, to the last.

Meanwhile, other messengers had been dispatched to different quarters for
fear of failure with Manuel. It was discovered by one of these that the
atrocious tribunal,--[Thibaudeau, Hebert, Simonier, etc.]--who sat in
mock judgment upon the tenants of these gloomy abodes, after satiating
themselves with every studied insult they could devise, were to pronounce
the word "libre!" It was naturally presumed that the predestined
victims, on hearing this tempting sound, and seeing the doors at the same
moment set open by the clerks of the infamous court, would dart off in
exultation, and, fancying themselves liberated, rush upon the knives of
the barbarians, who were outside, in waiting for their blood! Hundreds