There stood that day upon the quays outside the southern end of the Tuileries a young man, a young man of twenty-three, a lieutenant of guns, Napoleon Bonaparte, on leave in Paris. He was alone. He had watched all that business curiously, a spectator. He had already some knowledge of what the soul is in men fighting. He has left his judgment upon record that had Louis not turned back that day “to save the monarchy,” the monarchy would have been saved. He believed, and his judgment of arms is not negligible, that if the king had shown himself even then in the open spaces before the palace and in danger, preferably upon a horse, that would have happened to the defence which would have saved it. It was in the Long Gallery of the Louvre, where that arm of building joins the Tuileries, that the weak point of the defence had been discovered. The young men of the populace, eager and curious, had flowed up the stairways of the Long Gallery and had found the flooring cut and a gap between them and the entry to the Tuileries. That gap they had fought for, conquered, leaped, and bridged with planks; and just as the defence of the palace against the frontal attack was holding its last desperate own before the great main portal, just as the Swiss themselves were wondering how long the pressure they suffered could be resisted, the upper floor of the Tuileries was enfiladed: the first contingents from the Long Gallery were beginning to shoot down and through those open suites of rooms; the garrison was caught in flank and wavered. Hervilly, an officer commanding the Swiss Guards, in that desperate moment received half a sheet of paper folded in four. The curious may peer at it to-day under glass in the Carnavalet in Paris. It was an order from the king to bid the guards cease fire and march out of the palace back to their barracks to the west of the town. That order had been sent from the place where Louis was in refuge, from the parliament in the riding-school. Hervilly read it. He put it in his pocket again. He still maintained the fire of the guards. But it was too late. The Tuileries were pierced from the south: those that had found the entry by the Long Gallery called to others behind them; room after room was swept; hundred after hundred of the armed populace pressed through the gap, killing and cleaning out the garrison. As the fire from the palace windows was thus quenched, the attack from the open against the outer front began to triumph; the main door was forced; the Swiss Guards were broken in the hall and upon the great marble staircase; their remnants were driven out backward through the western doors upon the Tuileries Gardens beyond.