At the same time there was sent through the night to Versailles the royal order, to be proclaimed by heralds, that no meeting of the Parliament should take place until the Monday when, in the commons’ hall, the king would declare his will to all the three houses, clergy, commons and nobles assembled; and that will, of course, was to be the muddled compromise of Necker. These things done, they slept at last in Marly, and the very early dawn of the Saturday broke in a sky still troubled, rainy, and gray. * * * * * Bailly, the President of the Commons sitting at Versailles, was a man such as float to the surface in times of peace. He was honest and rich, a little paunchy, sober, and interested in astronomy. He was not without courage of the less vivid sort. He was fifty-three years of age. Bailly, the dignified spokesman of the commons in this awful crisis, was in his bed at Versailles: like everybody else except sentries, watchmen, and a few political intriguers, upon this very short summer night of dull, rainy weather. They knocked at his door and woke him to bring him a note. It was a very curt note from the Master of Ceremonies at the court. It told him that the great hall in which the Commons met was not to be used by them that day, that Saturday; for it was to be decorated for the royal session of all the estates, to be held there upon the Monday, when the king would address the whole States General gathered together and tell them his will. It is not a weak spur to a man of such an age, especially if he is well to do, to have his dignity neglected and his sleep interrupted as well. Bailly had thought the Commons worthy of more respect and of longer notice. When, therefore, the members came, most of them under dripping umbrellas, to the door that should admit them to their great hall, Bailly was at their head as indignant as such a man could be. He found the door shut, a paper pinned upon it, whereon was written the royal order, and a sentry who told him and all his followers that no one could come in save the workmen; for it would take all that day to prepare the hall for the royal meeting upon Monday. They let Bailly in to fetch his papers, no more. The Commons went off under their umbrellas in the rain, a straggling procession of men, mostly middle class, in good black knee-breeches and coat, in dainty buckled shoes not meant for such weather, Bailly leading them; they picked their way, this dripping lot of them over the puddles of the roadway, and made history quickly and well. They found in an adjoining street an empty tennis-court at their disposal, and there they met, organised a session, and took the oath, with one dissentient, that they would not disperse until they had achieved a new constitution for the French.