He was
one of that handful of gallant courtiers, who made such a devoted, but
hopeless stand in the cause of their sovereign, in the chateau of the
Tuilleries, against the irruption of the mob, on the sad tenth of
August.
He displayed the valor of a preux French chevalier to the last;
flourished feebly his little court sword with a sa-sa! in face of a
whole legion of sans-culottes; but was pinned to the wall like a
butterfly, by the pike of a poissarde, and his heroic soul was borne up
to heaven on his ailes de pigeon.
But all this has nothing to do with my story; to the point then: -
When the hour arrived for retiring for the night, my uncle was shown to
his room, in a venerable old tower. It was the oldest part of the
chateau, and had in ancient times been the Donjon or stronghold; of
course the chamber was none of the best. The Marquis had put him there,
however, because he knew him to be a traveller of taste, and fond of
antiquities; and also because the better apartments were already
occupied. Indeed, he perfectly reconciled my uncle to his quarters by
mentioning the great personages who had once inhabited them, all of
whom were in some way or other connected with the family.
