At ten that evening I was climbing for the second time the grand staircase of the Tuileries, in the midst of a dense and ignoble mob. One of the General's aides-de-camp tried in vain to open a passage. "Room, room, for the wife of the General!" he cried. Much they cared for the wife of the General! Great big boots trampled on my train, sharp spurs tore my laces, and the bones of the corsets of Mme. General hurt me terribly. At midnight I returned to Mme. General's den. I returned in rags, shreds, soiled, dishonored, and stained with wine, tobacco, and mud. A hateful little maid brutally tore me from the shoulders of Mme. General, and said to her mistress: "Well, madame, was it beautiful?" "No, Victoria," replied Mme. General, "it was too mixed. But do hurry up! tear it off if it won't come. I know where to find others at the same price." And I was thrown like a rag on a heap of pieces. The heap of pieces was composed of ball-dresses of the little baroness. One morning, three or four days later, the aide-de-camp rushed in, crying, "The Versaillists! The Versaillists are in Paris!" Thereupon Mme. General put on a sort of military costume, took two revolvers, filled them with cartridges, and hung them on a black leather belt which she wore around her waist. "Where is the General?" she said to the aide-de-camp. "At the Tuileries." "Very well, I shall go there with you." And on that she departed, with her little gray felt hat jauntily tilted over her ear. The cannonade and firing redoubled and came nearer. Evidently there was fighting very near us, quite close to us. The next day towards noon we saw them both come back, the General and Mme. General. And in what a condition! Panting, frightened, forbidding, with clothes white with dust, and hands and faces black with powder. The General was wounded in the left hand, he had twisted around his wrist a handkerchief bathed in blood. "Does your arm hurt you?" Mme. General said to him. "It stings a little, that's all." "Are they following us?" "Yes, I think so." "Listen! There are noises, shouts." "Look out of the window without showing yourself." "The red trousers! They are here!" "Lock and bolt the door. Get the revolvers and load them. I can't on account of my arm. This wound is a bore." "You are so pale!" "Yes; I am losing blood--a good deal of blood." "They are coming up the stairs!" "Into the alcove--let us go into the alcove, on the dresses." "Here they are!" "Give me the revolver." The door gave way violently under the hammering of the butts of the guns. A shower of bullets fell on us and around us. The General, with a single movement, fell heavily at full length on the bed of silk, muslin, and laces that we made for him. Three or four men with red trousers threw themselves on Mme. General, who fought, bit, and screamed, "Assassins! assassins!"