de Lafayette. On their return
to the Palais-Royal, and while they are seated at table in a tavern,
the people demand these two remains. They throw them out of the
window and finish their supper, whilst the heart is marched about
below in a bouquet of white carnations. -- Such are the spectacles
which this garden presents where, a year before, "good society in
full dress" came on leaving the Opera to chat, often until two
o'clock in the morning, under the mild light of the moon, listening
now to the violin of Saint-Georges, and now to the charming voice of
Garat.
VIII.
Paris in the hands of the people.
Henceforth it is clear that no one is safe: neither the new militia
nor the new authorities suffice to enforce respect for the law.
"They did not dare," says Bailly,[55] "oppose the people who, eight
days before this, had taken the Bastille." -- In vain, after the
last two murders, do Bailly and Lafayette indignantly threaten to
withdraw; they are forced to remain; their protection, such as it
is, is all that is left, and, if the National Guard is unable to
prevent every murder, it prevents some of them.
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