At M. Gerbaut’s door, he saw a file of National Guards, who commanded him to stop.
“All very well,” replied M. de Malmy; “but I intend to go on.”
“Not you, more than another!” cried an officer, seizing his horse by the bridle.
“If you advance another step,” said M. Roland, the commander of the National Guard, cocking a pistol, “I will shoot you.”
M. de Malmy, without reply, spurred his horse right on to him.
M. Roland fired off the pistol so close that the flame blinded M. de Malmy’s horse, at the same time as the bullet passed through the fleshy part of the horseman’s arm.
The frightened animal reared, and fell back upon his master.
From the chamber where I was engaged in watching the King, I heard the pistol-shot, the fall of the horse and man, and the scream of a woman.
I recognised the voice of Mdlle. Sophie. I dashed down stairs, and arrived in time to see her throw herself on the breathless, and, as she thought, dead body of M. de Malmy.
“Réné, Réné!” she cried. “Help me—oh, help me!”