“Whence come you?” “From the Forest of Argonne.” “I told you he was a savage,” said the King. “What else could you expect?” “What trade are you?” “A carpenter.” “My brother, you know the fable of the Lion and the Rat,” said Madame Elizabeth. “My friend,” said the King, “you see that I must enter my house. If you have need of me, ask for Cléry, my _valet-de-chambre_.” “Sire,” replied I, “a man who has an occupation has need of no one, much less of a King.” The King shrugged his shoulders, and mounted the staircase. Madame Elizabeth stayed behind. “But, on the other hand, my friend,” said she, “suppose that we have need of you?” “Ah, madame,” cried I, “that is another affair!” “In that case, M. Réné Besson, ask for Cléry.” She followed her brother, whilst I stood there motionless, regarding that angel who knew how to recompense one in asking. On the morrow, the journalist, Prudhomme, wrote:— “Certain good patriots, in whom the sentiment of loyalty has not extinguished that of compassion, appear uneasy concerning the moral and physical state of Louis XVI and his family, after a journey so fatiguing in all respects as that from St. Menehould. “Let them reassure themselves. Our friend, on entering his apartments, on his return, felt no more fatigue than if he had been indulging in the pleasures of the chase. “He ate his chicken as usual, and the next day played after dinner with his son. “As for the mother, she took a bath on her arrival. Her first request was for boots; she having remarked with sorrow, that hers had been destroyed by travelling. She acted with hauteur to the officers picked out especially to guard her, and said that it was ridiculous and indecent to have the door of her bath-room and bed-chamber left open.” We quote these four paragraphs to show to what an extent party spirit can blind men. The Citizen Prudhomme, who, after having written “The Revolutions of Paris in ’91,” was to write “The Crimes of the Revolution of ’98,” wrongfully describes four incidents:—“That the King ate a fowl, and that he played with his son; that the Queen had a bath, and shut her door when taking it.” It is always so. There can never be a revolution without a Prudhomme: first, to glorify them: and then to grossly insult. CHAPTER XXXVIII. I RESUME MY ORIGINAL PROFESSION. It was nine o’clock in the evening. I went to look after my horse, which I had left in a house by the barrier. They gave it back to me as promised, and I retook it to the stables, always using the name of M. Drouet. I took a receipt for it, and at ten o’clock I entered the Rue St. Honoré. I found all the family at table, as, on account of the day’s excitement, the supper, which usually was partaken of at eight o’clock, to-night was delayed till ten.