Unhappy Barnave! He was forced ere long to atone with his life for his newly won devotion to the royal house and perish on the guillotine! The remainder of the journey passed without further incident. Sullen crowds gathered everywhere to watch the King pass, but no one spoke or showed any sign of good-will or favor toward him. At Ferté-sous-Jouarre, however, the royal family found one hearty welcome from the Regnards, at whose house they dined. Although Madame Regnard wore an apron to avoid recognition, Marie Antoinette guessed her position at once, and approached her, saying: “You are the lady of the house, are you not?” “I was that only until your Majesty entered it,” answered Madame Regnard; a reply which pleased the Queen and did full honor to the gracious mistress of the house. When they were leaving, the Queen said to the Dauphin: “My son, thank the lady for her kindness, and tell her we shall never forget it.” The little Prince immediately obeyed. “Mamma thanks you for your attention,” said the child, “and I—I love you very much because you have given her pleasure.” When the coach arrived at Meaux a great tumult arose; a priest nearly lost his life as the poor Marquis had done, but Barnave rescued him, calling out to the people in thundering tones: “Frenchmen, would you become a pack of assassins?” Whereupon Pétion turned to Latour-Maubourg and remarked with a sneer: “It appears that our colleague’s mission is not only to protect royalty, but also the clergy!” After Barnave’s humane action, the Dauphin willingly seated himself again on his knee and talked to him until they reached Bossuet. At eleven o’clock that evening, after his colleagues were asleep, Barnave was summoned to the King’s chamber, where he had a long conference with the royal couple in regard to their situation. “Evidently,” said the Queen, at the end of it, “we have been deceived as to the real state of public feeling in France.” They thanked Barnave warmly for his counsel, and it was agreed that he should meet them secretly in the Tuileries. From this time Barnave inwardly swore allegiance to the throne, and kept his vow faithfully to the end. On the twenty-fifth of June, at seven in the evening, the royal party arrived in Paris and entered the Tuileries, before the gates of which a vast throng had assembled, drunk with wine and fury and with difficulty restrained from violence by the National Guard. M. Hue lifted the little Dauphin from the coach and carried him into his own apartment, where he was soon in bed. The child was restless, however, and his sleep very uneasy. In the morning when he awoke, he said to his tutor, in a voice loud enough to be heard distinctly by the guards stationed in the room: “Oh, M. Hue, I have had such a horrible dream! I thought there were wolves and tigers and all kinds of wild beasts around me all night long, waiting to tear me to pieces!”