At four o'clock the Queen came out of the King's chamber and told us she
had no longer any hope; that M. Mandat, who had gone to the Hotel de Ville
to receive further orders, had just been assassinated, and that the people
were at that time carrying his head about the streets. Day came. The
King, the Queen, Madame Elisabeth, Madame, and the Dauphin went down to
pass through the ranks of the sections of the National Guard; the cry of
"Vive le Roi!" was heard from a few places. I was at a window on the
garden side; I saw some of the gunners quit their posts, go up to the
King, and thrust their fists in his face, insulting him by the most brutal
language. Messieurs de Salvert and de Bridges drove them off in a
spirited manner. The King was as pale as a corpse. The royal family came
in again. The Queen told me that all was lost; that the King had shown no
energy; and that this sort of review had done more harm than good.

I was in the billiard-room with my companions; we placed ourselves upon
some high benches. I then saw M. d'Hervilly with a drawn sword in his
hand, ordering the usher to open the door to the French noblesse. Two
hundred persons entered the room nearest to that in which the family were;
others drew up in two lines in the preceding rooms. I saw a few people
belonging to the Court, many others whose features were unknown to me, and
a few who figured technically without right among what was called the
noblesse, but whose self-devotion ennobled them at once. They were all so
badly armed that even in that situation the indomitable French liveliness
indulged in jests. M. de Saint-Souplet, one of the King's equerries, and
a page, carried on their shoulders instead of muskets the tongs belonging
to the King's antechamber, which they had broken and divided between them.
Another page, who had a pocket-pistol in his hand, stuck the end of it
against the back of the person who stood before him, and who begged he
would be good enough to rest it elsewhere. A sword and a pair of pistols