The King, who had need, whatever his preoccupation of mind might be, to eat and sleep well, having neither ate nor slept to his satisfaction, was distracted. About half-past six, M. Deslon was announced. M. Deslon had arrived from Dun with about a hundred men. He had found the Rue de l’Hôpital barricaded; had held a parley; and demanding admission to the presence of the King, was accorded permission to visit him. He informed them how, at the sound of the tocsin, he had hurried on; and that M. de Bouillé, warned by his son and M. de Raigecourt, would, without doubt, arrive in a short time. The King, however, seemed as if he did not hear him. Three times M. Deslon repeated the same thing, and rather impatiently the last time. “Sire,” said he, “do you not hear me?” “What do you wish, monsieur?” said the King, as if starting from a reverie. “I ask your commands for M. de Bouillé, sire!” “I have no more commands to give, monsieur—I am a prisoner.” “But, at least, sir—” “That he does what he can for me.” M. Deslon retired, without being able to obtain another answer. In fact, the King was indeed a prisoner. The tocsin had completed its dismal task. Every village had sent its contingent. Four or five thousand men encumbered the streets of Varennes. About seven in the morning, two men arriving by the Clermont road, and bestriding horses flecked with foam, pushed their way through the multitude. The shouts of the people announced something new to the King. Soon the door opened, and admitted an officer of the National Guard. It was the same Rayon, who, whilst snatching a moment’s rest at Châlons, sent on an express to St. Menehould. He entered the royal chamber fatigued, excited, almost mad, without a cravat, and with his hair unpowdered. “Ah, sire,” said he, in a hoarse voice—“our wives, our children! They slaughter them at Paris, sire; you will not go much further. The interest of the State—” And he fell, almost fainting, into an arm-chair. “Well, sir,” said the Queen, taking his hand, and showing him the Dauphin and Madame Royale sleeping on the bed, “am I not a mother, too?” “In short, sir,” said the King, “what have you to announce to me?” “Sire, a decree of the Assembly.” “Where is it?” “My comrade has it.” “Your comrade?” The officer made a sign to open the door. One of the gardes du corps opened it, and they saw M. de Romeuf leaning against the window of the ante-chamber, and weeping. He came forward, with downcast eyes. The Queen started at sight of him. It was the same young man who had accompanied M. Lafayette in the visit he had paid the King just a quarter of an hour before he started. “Ah, monsieur! is it you?” said the Queen. “I could never have believed it.” It was she who should have blushed before him, and she tried to make him blush. M. de Romeuf held in his hands the decree of the Assembly. The King snatched it from him, cast his eyes over it, and cried, “There is no longer a King in France!”