No one dared to tell me of it; the paper containing the account of it was sent to me from Paris, and they placed it on my table, where I saw it as soon as I arose. I read it with astonishment and grief. On that occasion I was less of a good Frenchman than an enemy. This avowal is worthy of note because it furnishes a key to the approaching national crisis. Mademoiselle's treason was the crime of architects of the Fronde; of the Nobility first, afterward of all France. Mademoiselle wept over the battle of Lens, and when her father commanded her to return to Paris to appear with the Queen and to join in the public rejoicings her grief knew no bounds. The scene in the Palais Royal had destroyed her confidence and her sympathy, and she could not have "rejoiced with the Queen" on any occasion; but her father's commands were formal, and she was forced to assist with the Court (August 26th) at Notre Dame, when the _Te Deum_ was chanted in thanksgiving for the victory of France. On that occasion [said Mademoiselle] I placed myself beside Cardinal Mazarin, and as he was in a good humour I spoke to him of liberating Saujon. He promised me to do all in his power. He said that he should try to influence the Queen. I left them all at the Palais Royal and went away to get my dinner, and when I arrived I was informed of the clamour in the city; the bourgeois had taken arms. The bourgeois had taken arms because of the unexpected arrest of two members of Parliament. "Old Broussel" was one of the two, and to the people he personified the democratic and humanitarian doctrines of President Barillon, who had died in his prison because he had angered the Queen by pleading the people's cause. The news of his arrest fell like a thunderbolt, and the people sprang to arms. The general excitement dispelled Mademoiselle's grief; she was not sorry for the uprising. She could not see anything to regret in the disturbance of the monarchy. Monsieur and the Queen had shown her that her interests were not theirs, they had tormented and humiliated her, and it pleased her wounded pride to think that her enemies were to be punished. The Tuileries were admirably situated for the occasion. Should there be a revolution it could not fail to take place under her windows, and even were she to be imprisoned--as she had been before--she could still amuse herself and witness the uprising at her ease. At that time there were no boulevards; the Seine was the centre of the capital. It was the great street and the great open hall in which the Parisians gave their fêtes. Entering Paris either from Rouen or from Dijon, travellers knew by the animation on the water when they were near the city. From the Cours la Reine to the little isle Saint Louis the river was edged with open-air shops and markets. On the river were barges laden with merchandise, with rafts, with water-coaches (which looked like floating