serving men with the butt ends of their muskets. Several shots were
fired into the coach. One passed through my hat as I was getting out,
sword in hand, the better to repel an attack the motive of which I
could not then divine. A cut across my right leg with a sabre laid me
under the wheels; and whilst in that situation, I heard the shot
pouring into the coach like hail, and felt the villains stepping over
my body to finish the murder of their sovereign.

"It was then that our friend Butzou (who at that period was a private
soldier in my service) stood between his majesty and the rebels,
parrying many a stroke aimed at the king; but at last, a thrust from
a bayonet into his gallant defender's breast cast him weltering in
his blood upon me. By this time all the persons who had formed the
escort were either wounded or dispersed, and George Butzou, our
friend's only brother, was slain. So dropped one by one the
protectors of our trampled bodies and of our outraged monarch. Secure
then of their prey, one of the assassins opened the carriage door,
and with shocking imprecations seizing the king, discharged his
pistol so near his majesty's face, that he felt the heat of the
flash. A second villain cut him on the forehead with a sabre, whilst
the third, who was on horseback, laying hold of the king's collar,
dragged him along the ground through the suburbs of the city.

"During the latter part of this murderous scene, some of our
affrighted people, who had fled, returned with a detachment, and
seeing Butzou and me apparently lifeless, carried us to the royal
palace, where all was commotion and distraction. But the foot-guards
followed the track which the conspirators had taken. In one of the
streets they found the king's hat dyed in blood, and his pelisse
also. This confirmed their apprehensions of his death; and they came