One young man exclaimed： 'Follow me at once， let us start off at once to Bezenval's！'" -- Their brains are so frightened， and their minds so distrustful， that at every step in the streets "one's name has to be given， one's profession declared， one's residence， and one's intentions . . .. One can neither enter nor leave Paris without being suspected of treason." The Prince de Montbarrey， advocate of the new ideas， and his wife， are stopped in their carriage at the barrier， and are on the point of being cut to pieces. A deputy of the nobles， on his way to the National Assembly， is seized in his cab and conducted to the Place de Grève；the corpse of M. de Launay is shown to him， and he is told that he is to be treated in the same fashion. - Every life hangs by a thread， and， on the following days， when the King had sent away his troops， dismissed his Ministers， recalled Necker， and granted everything， the danger remains just as great. The multitude， abandoned to the revolutionaries and to itself， continues the same bloody antics， while the municipal chiefs[50] whom it has elected， Bailly， Mayor of Paris， and Lafayette， commandant of the National Guard， are obliged to use cunning， to implore， to throw themselves between the multitude and the unfortunates whom they wish to destroy.
On the 15th of July， in the night， a woman disguised as a man is arrested in the court of the H？tel-de-Ville， and so maltreated that she faints away； Bailly， in order to save her， is obliged to feign anger against her and have her sent immediately to prison. From the 14th to the 22nd of July， Lafayette， at the risk of his life， saves with his own hand seventeen persons in different quarters.[51] -- On the 22nd of July， upon the denunciations which multiply around Paris like trains of gunpowder， two administrators of high rank， M.
Foulon， Councillor of State， and M. Berthier， his son-in-law， are arrested， one near Fontainebleau， and the other near Compiègne. M.
Foulon， a strict master，[52] but intelligent and useful， expended sixty thousand francs the previous winter on his estate in giving employment to the poor. M. Berthier， an industrious and capable man， had officially surveyed and valued Ile-de-France， to equalize the taxes， and had reduced the overcharged quotas first one-eighth and then a quarter. But both of these gentlemen have arranged the details of the camp against which Paris has risen； both are publicly proscribed for eight days previously by the Palais-Royal， and， with a people frightened by disorder， exasperated by hunger， and stupefied by suspicion， an accused person is a guilty one. -- With regard to Foulon， as with Réveillon， a story is made up， coined in the same mint， a sort of currency for popular circulation， and which the people itself manufactures by casting into one tragic expression the sum of its sufferings and rankling memories：[53] "He said that we were worth no more than his horses； and that if we had no bread we had only to eat grass." -- The old man of seventy-four is brought to Paris， with a truss of hay on his head， a collar of thistles around his neck， and his mouth stuffed with hay. In vain does the electoral bureau order his imprisonment that he may be saved； the crowd yells out： "Sentenced and hung！" and， authoritatively， appoints the judges. In vain does Lafayette insist and entreat three times that the judgment be regularly rendered， and that the accused be sent to the Abbaye. A new wave of people comes up， and one man， "well dressed，" cries out： "What is the need of a sentence for a man who has been condemned for thirty years？" Foulon is carried off； dragged across the square， and hung to the lamp post.
The cord breaks twice， and twice he falls upon the pavement. Re-hung with a fresh cord and then cut down， his head is severed from his body and placed on the end of a pike.[54] Meanwhile， Berthier， sent away from Compiègne by the municipality， afraid to keep him in his prison where he was constantly menaced， arrives in a cabriolet under escort. The people carry placards around him filled with opprobrious epithets； in changing horses they threw hard black bread into the carriage， exclaiming， "There， wretch， see the bread you made us eat！" On reaching the church of Saint-Merry， a fearful storm of insults burst forth against him. He is called a monopolist， "although he had never bought or sold a grain of wheat." In the eyes of the multitude， who has to explain the evil as caused by some evil-doer， he is the author of the famine. Conducted to the Abbaye， his escort is dispersed and he is pushed over to the lamp post.
Then， seeing that all is lost， he snatches a gun from one of his murderers and bravely defends himself. A soldier of the "Royal Croats" gives him a cut with his saber across the stomach， and another tears out his heart. As the cook， who had cut off the head of M. de Launay， happens to be on the spot， they hand him the heart to carry while the soldiers take the head， and both go to the H？tel-de-Ville to show their trophies to M. de Lafayette. On their return to the Palais-Royal， and while they are seated at table in a tavern， the people demand these two remains. They throw them out of the window and finish their supper， whilst the heart is marched about below in a bouquet of white carnations. -- Such are the spectacles which this garden presents where， a year before， "good society in full dress" came on leaving the Opera to chat， often until two o'clock in the morning， under the mild light of the moon， listening now to the violin of Saint-Georges， and now to the charming voice of Garat.
VIII.
Paris in the hands of the people.
Henceforth it is clear that no one is safe： neither the new militia nor the new authorities suffice to enforce respect for the law.