I had seen him cross the garden, a man in a sage-coloured coat who moved with an unmistakable bearing. He had ventured slowly through a crowd of the curious towards the archway that led to the passage de Valois. However, it was only once he had stopped to gawp in horror at the spectacle before him that I knew for certain. He had removed his round black hat and revealed a countenance whose features I recognized even at a distance.

So consumed had I been in cursing Fortuna that I had nearly missed her pass before my nose. I did not hesitate for one moment, but dashed from the room. I heard Orléans exclaim in surprise, but I did not pause, I did not wait or alter my course, for I understood too well what would be the price of that. My feet fairly tripped across the floor, skidding and sailing upon my silk slippers. I gathered my skirts into my arms and flew down several sets of stairs which led to the passage de Valois. Out into the street I spilled, startling the porters who stood at the entry to the Petits Appartements.

The road was a sea of heads and shoulders, afloat with weathered bonnets rouges and linen caps, tricorns and straw hats adorned with rosettes. Pikes and swords tinted brown with drying blood bobbed through the mass. Several women in tricolour sashes linked arms and danced the Carmagnole as they continued up the passage de Valois, towards the colonnades. I stood upon my toes and attempted to see above the throng, but failed to catch sight of him. It was then, no more than several feet from me, they raised it, the great distorted head of Madame de Lamballe, like a flag upon a mast. The mouth hung slack, void of a tongue, and where the pretty light lashes had once framed her eyes there was to be seen nothing but two red-crusted hollows. The horror of it. I could scarcely mask my revulsion, not only on account of the atrocity which it represented, but because it stank of death.

‘That is an abomination!’ shot the voice of a man behind me. I turned abruptly to see who would dare utter such a thing. Two young men, finely clothed, their arms folded across their chests, looked on in disgust.

‘You will rot in hell for this! You think a nation will be born from murdering innocents and women?’ echoed his companion.

I felt a bristle of indignation roll through the crowd. A few halted their progress. Sensing danger, I hastily attempted to remove myself from this group and swim forward through the morass, searching all the while. I turned frantically this way and that. Then, for an instant, I believed I had caught sight of him: his dark head appeared briefly above a wave. My heart leaped as I squeezed myself between a father and his young son.