evening, we beheld Heymes, in plain clothes, gallop into the courtyard,
on a dragoon's charger, covered with foam. He had just come from the
demonstration, and had witnessed that ordinary prologue to revolutions,
pillage and massacre--pillage of gunsmiths' shops, and massacre of the
officers of the 6th Dragoons, shot down with pistols, without any
provocation whatever, at the head of their squadrons in line.

"You must come to Paris, Sire," he said, as he dismounted. My father did
not wait for him to say it twice, and an hour later he was at the
Tuileries, thence giving the impulse which nipped the revolutionary
attempt in the bud. The next morning he was on horseback amidst the
troops and the National Guard, which hemmed the rioters into the ward of
St. Merri. An incident occurred there which was highly characteristic of
that Parisian population, in whom a generous chord will always thrill,
even in its maddest moments. The King, with my brother Nemours and his
staff, had gone down the Rue des Arcis, at the end of which lively
firing was heard. The troops who were massed in the street greeted the
sovereign with cheers, and he, going forward, reached a square in which
the fighting was actually going on. The cheering ran from one to
another, the soldiers who were engaged ceasing their fire to join in.
This change in the music struck the insurgents also at last. They
stopped firing too, and were to be seen appearing at the windows, rifle
in hand, taking off their caps to the plucky King, whom they would not
have hesitated to shoot at a minute before.

I need not say that as soon as the King and his escort disappeared down
a side street the fight began again, merrier than ever, and the 42nd
Regiment of the line carried the monastery of St. Merri. An historic
regiment that 42nd! After having fought against the "White" insurrection
in the Vendee and the republican insurrection at the St. Merri