their eyes. They repeatedly cried out, "The King for ever, in spite of
you and your opinions, Monseigneur!" One woman had the impudence to come
up to the King and ask him whether what he had been doing was done
sincerely, and whether he would not be forced to retract it.

The courtyards of the Chateau were thronged with an immense concourse of
people; they demanded that the King and Queen, with their children, should
make their appearance in the balcony. The Queen gave me the key of the
inner doors, which led to the Dauphin's apartments, and desired me to go
to the Duchesse de Polignac to tell her that she wanted her son, and had
directed me to bring him myself into her room, where she waited to show
him to the people. The Duchess said this order indicated that she was not
to accompany the Prince. I did not answer; she squeezed my hand, saying,
"Ah! Madame Campan, what a blow I receive!" She embraced the child and me
with tears. She knew how much I loved and valued the goodness and the
noble simplicity of her disposition. I endeavoured to reassure her by
saying that I should bring back the Prince to her; but she persisted, and
said she understood the order, and knew what it meant. She then retired to
her private room, holding her handkerchief to her eyes. One of the
under-governesses asked me whether she might go with the Dauphin; I told
her the Queen had given no order to the contrary, and we hastened to her
Majesty, who was waiting to lead the Prince to the balcony.

Having executed this sad commission, I went down into the courtyard, where
I mingled with the crowd. I heard a thousand vociferations; it was easy
to see, by the difference between the language and the dress of some
persons among the mob, that they were in disguise. A woman, whose face
was covered with a black lace veil, seized me by the arm with some
violence, and said, calling me by my name, "I know you very well; tell
your Queen not to meddle with government any longer; let her leave her