All now seems quiet, so I will go to bed.

Heaven only knows if to-morrow night we may be allowed to seek our pillows in safety.
_28th_ .-- My _femme-de-chambre_ undrew my curtains this morning, "with such a face--so faint, so spiritless, so dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone"-- proclaiming that barricades had been erected during the night, and that the bodies of those killed in the encounter yesterday have been paraded through the streets in order to excite still more the angry feelings of the people.

This last measure reminds one of the appalling exhibitions in the fearful and memorable Revolution of former days; and the reminiscences it awakens are not calculated to tranquillize the mind.
She states that the shops are all closed, and that no provisions can be obtained; the cook complains that his stockpots want replenishing; and the _femme de charge_ hints that the larder is not so well supplied as it would have been had she known what was to occur.

Each and all of these functionaries seem wholly occupied by the dread of not being able to furnish us with as copious repasts as usual, unmindful that a mighty throne is tottering to its foundation, and that a struggle is going on in which many lives may be sacrificed.
The Duc de Raguse has incurred great blame for his intercourse with the supposed leaders of the Revolution.

This conduct has had the effect of destroying the confidence of the troops in their chief, and of weakening their attachment to the cause they were to support.