To make a way through the cordon that surrounded us did not disconcert us at all, for we had more than once vied in skill and quickness with the artillerymen of Vincennes. Moreover, at the first gunshot in Paris, as we knew very well, the people would rally to our side. They had come to see what terms we could offer. The artillerymen who were not of our opinion had withdrawn to that portion of the Louvre nearest the Tuileries: there were about a hundred and fifty of them. Unfortunately, or, rather, fortunately, we learned all at once that the cellars where we kept our ammunition were empty. The Governor of the Louvre, foreseeing the events that I have just related, had had it all taken away during the day. We had therefore no means of attack or defence beyond our muskets and six or eight cartridges per man. But these means of defence would seem to have been formidable enough to make them do nothing more than surround us. We spent the night in expectation of being attacked at any moment. Those of us who slept did so with their muskets between their legs. The day broke and found us still ready for action. The situation gradually turned from tragedy to comedy: the bakers, wine-sellers and pork--butchers instantly made their little speculation out of the position of things and assured us we should not have to surrender from famine. We might be compared to a menagerie of wild beasts shut up for the public safety. The resemblance was the more striking when the people began to gaze at us through the barred windows. Amongst those who came were friends who brought us the latest news. Drums were beating in every quarter--though that was not news to us, for we could hear them perfectly well for ourselves--but the drummers _did not grow tired._ Up to noon, the situation of the king, politically, was serious; at that hour no decision had been arrived at either for or against him. General La Fayette had, however, published this proclamation-- "_Order of the Day_, 21 _December_