On turning round, I fancied I beheld the man who "drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night." That messenger, I am sure, could not have presented a visage more pale, more spiritless than my Helvetian. Recollecting that he had served in the Swiss guards, I was the less at a loss to account for his extreme agitation. "In what part of the _château_ were you, Jean," said I, "when these balls were aimed at the windows?"----"There was my post," replied he, recovering himself, and pointing to one of the centre casements.--"Is it true," continued I, "that, by way of feigning a reconciliation, you threw down cartridges by handfuls to the Marseillese below, and called out; _vive la nation?"_----"It is but too true," answered Jean; "we then availed ourselves of the moment when they advanced under the persuasion that they were to become our friends, and opened on them a tremendous fire, by which we covered the place with dead and dying. But we became victims of our own treachery: for our ammunition being, by this _ruse de guerre_, the sooner expended, we presently had no resource left but the bayonet, by which we could not prevent the mob from closing on us."--"And how did you contrive to escape," said I? --"Having thrown away my Swiss uniform," replied he, "in the general confusion, I fortunately possessed myself of the coat of a national volunteer, which he had taken off on account of the hot weather. This garment, bespattered with blood, I instantly put on, as well as his hat with a tri-coloured cockade."--"This disguise saved your life," interrupted I.--"Yes, indeed;" rejoined he. "Having got down to the vestibule, I could not find a passage into the garden; and, to prevent suspicion, I at once mixed with the mob on the place where we are now standing."--"How did you get off at last," said I?--"I was obliged," answered he, "to shout and swear with the _poissardes_, while the heads of many of my comrades were thrown out of the windows."--"The _poissardes_," added I, "set no bounds to their cruelty?"--"No," replied he, "I expected every moment to feel its effects; my disguise alone favoured my escape: on the dead bodies of my countrymen they practised every species of mutilation." Here Jean drew a picture of a nature too horrid to be committed to paper. My pen could not trace it.----In a word, nothing could exceed the ferocity of the infuriate populace; and the sacking of the palace of the Trojan king presents but a faint image of what passed here on the day which overset the throne of the Bourbons. According to a calculation, founded as well on the reports of the police as on the returns of the military corps, it appears that the number of men killed in the attack of the palace of the _Tuileries_ on the 10th of August 1792, amounted in the whole to very near six thousand, of whom eight hundred and fifty-two were on the side of the besieged, and three thousand seven hundred and forty on the side of the besiegers.