While the regiment of cuirassiers was passing, the fusillade from the Royal troops was mild and, although very active on our side, it must be confessed it was without much effect. They were hampered by the line of horse soldiers which was passing between them and us. But the last rider had scarcely passed the second garden gate before the real music began. The heat was insupportable and there was not a breath of air stirring. The smoke from the guns of the Swiss Guards, therefore, only cleared away very slowly; soon the whole of the Louvre was surrounded by a girdle of smoke which hid the Royal troops from our eyes as completely as the painted clouds, which rise from the wings of a theatre at the epilogue to a drama, hide the apotheosis being prepared at the back of the stage from the gaze of the spectators. It was only wasting shot to attempt to pierce that curtain of smoke. Every now and then, however, a hole was made, and one could catch a glimpse, through the clearing, of the white facings on the red coats and the gilded plates on the bearskin caps of the Swiss Guard. This was the opportunity the true marksmen waited for, and it was very seldom that one did not see two or three men totter and disappear behind their comrades. From our side, during the first attack, we had one man killed and two wounded. The man that was killed was hit in the top of the forehead whilst kneeling behind the parapet to take aim. He leapt up as though on springs, took a few steps backwards, dropped his musket, turned round twice, fighting the air with his arms, then fell on his face. One of the two who were wounded was a street lad. His injury was in the flesh of the thigh. He had not hid behind the parapet, but had danced on top of it with a pocket pistol in his hand. He went off, hopping away upon one leg, and disappeared down the rue de Seine. The other man's wound was more serious. He had received a ball in the stomach. He fell in a sitting posture, with both hands pressed on the wounded part, which scarcely bled at all. The hæmorrhage was probably internal. He was seized with thirst in about ten minutes and dragged himself towards me, but, when he reached the fountain, he had not sufficient strength to get to the basin and he called me to his assistance. I gave him a hand and helped him to climb up. He drank more than ten mouthfuls in as many minutes; and between the drinks he said-- "Oh! the beggars! They have not missed me!" And when, from time to time, he saw me put my gun to my shoulder, he added-- "Be sure you don't miss them!" Finally, at the end of half an hour, this useless fusillading was discontinued. Two or three men exclaimed-- "To the Louvre! To the Louvre!"