I had dined with my father and mother, in company with one of their friends.
The drawing-room was lighted up with a number of candles, and four card-tables were already occupied, when a friend of the gentleman of the house came in, with a pale and terrified countenance, and said, in a voice scarcely audible, 'I bring you terrible news.

The King has been assassinated!' Two ladies in the company fainted; a brigadier of the Body Guards threw down his cards and cried out, 'I do not wonder at it; it is those rascally Jesuits.'-- 'What are you saying, brother ?' cried a lady, flying to him; 'would you get yourself arrested ?'--'Arrested! For what?
For unmasking those wretches who want a bigot for a King ?' My father came in; he recommended circumspection, saying that the blow was not mortal, and that all meetings ought to be suspended at so critical a moment.

He had brought the chaise for my mother, who placed me on her knees.

We lived in the Avenue de Paris, and throughout our drive I heard incessant cries and sobs from the footpaths.
"At last I saw a man arrested; he was an usher of the King's chamber, who had gone mad, and was crying out, 'Yes, I know them; the wretches! the villains!' Our chaise was stopped by this bustle.

My mother recognised the unfortunate man who had been seized; she gave his name to the trooper who had stopped him.