All this was so appalling that the Commissioners dared not go down St. Martin's Street Without-the-City, a crowded way full of horrors, where Berthier Savigny had been torn to pieces and other barbarities committed.
So they made the circuit and went by the Champs Elysees.
The concourse of spectators was still more great and broke up the ranks of the soldiery.
It was the third time Louis had entered by this dread entrance.
All Paris rushed hither. The King and the Queen saw a vast sea of heads, silent, sombre and threatening, with hats on. Still more alarming was the double row of National Guards, all the way to the Tuileries, their muskets held butt up as if at a funeral. It was a funeral procession indeed, for the monarchy of seven centuries!
This slowly toiling carriage was the hearse taking royalty to the grave.
On perceiving this long file of Guards the soldiers of the escort greeted them with "Long Live the Nation!" and that was the cry bursting out along the line from the barrier to the palace.
All the bystanders joined in, a cry of brotherhood uttered by the whole of France, but this one family was excluded.
Behind the cab following the royal carriage came a chaise, open but covered with green boughs on account of the heat; it contained Drouet and two others who had arrested the King. Fatigue had forced them to ride.
Billet alone, indefatigable, as if revenge made him bronze, kept on horseback and seemed to lead the whole procession.