THE DISTURBANCES CONTINUED all day and night. From the windows of Madame’s apartments I could hear them crying the verses of a song I had not before heard. They sang of ‘children of the fatherland’ rising against tyranny and ‘cutting the throats of sons and women’. After that which I had glimpsed upon the streets, these words sickened me, these refrains of what I would learn was called ‘La Marseillaise’. I feared for my household. I feared for Allenham and whether he remained in Paris or was in some other place, removed from harm. I feared for Mrs Elliot; indeed I found myself entirely preoccupied by thoughts of her welfare. That afternoon, contrary to my better judgement and at great risk, I penned her a note informing her of my return to Paris and of my situation at the Palais-Royal. I added that I might be met with the following morning at the Hôtel Blanquefort, where I intended to confirm the well-being of my household and tend to several errands. I begged that she would send me a line or two assuring me of her safety, but the day passed and then the morning came, and I received no reply. I prayed for her.

On the morning of the 11th August, Madame insisted that I make use of Orléans’s carriage and a porter to escort me and my maid to the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré unharmed. How the city reeked of ash and heat, I shall never forget. The sky had turned a curious brown, and a thick haze covered the sun. Apart from the troops of the National Guard, the streets were all but empty. Here and there could be found groups of citizens who had gathered in the squares to affix their ropes to statues of kings. They tugged and heaved at the bronze cast of Louis XIII which stood in the place Royale. As I passed I watched them rip it from its pediment, as if it were a rotten tooth.

I was deposited at the Hôtel Blanquefort and mounted the stairs to my apartment with some trepidation. All was silent. The neighbours, it seemed, were too frightened to stir. Here or there, a shutter was opened, but most were sealed fast.

I was greeted with great relief by my household, who claimed that they now jumped at the slightest rattle of a door. Madame Vernet informed me that the guards had come last night in search of conspirators, as they were now known.

‘They requested that I unlock every door. They made a search in each room. They even lifted the mattress from your bed, madame,’ Thérèse explained, her eyes quite round. To be sure, she appeared to me most terrified.

‘And they are satisfied to have found none harboured here?’

She swallowed and nodded.