"I lived in a house which faced on the Boulevard at the corner of the Madeleine Church. My father and I sat opposite each other all the morning buried in our grief, and unable to utter a word. We knew the fatal procession was wending its way by the Boulevards. Suddenly a somewhat loud clamour made itself heard. I rushed out under the idea that perhaps an attempt was being made to rescue the King. How could I do otherwise than cherish such a hope to the very last? On reaching the goal I discovered that what I had heard was merely the howling of the raving madmen who surrounded the vehicle. I found myself sucked in by the crowd which followed it, and was dragged away by it, and, so to speak, carried and set down at the scaffold's side. So it was that I endured the horror of this awful spectacle.
"Hardly had the crime been consummated when a cry of 'Long live the nation!' arose from the foot of the scaffold, and, repeated from man to man, was taken up by the whole of the vast concourse of people. The cry was followed by the deepest and most gloomy silence; shame, horror, and terror were now hovering over the vast locality. I crossed it once more, swept back by the flood which had brought me thither. Each one walked along slowly, hardly daring to look at another. The rest of the day was spent in a state of profound stupor, which spread a pall over the whole
