There was no more fighting. By ten o'clock Broussel was in the city,
the chains were torn down, the barricades leveled, and he made a
triumphal progress. He was taken first to Notre Dame, and as he left
the carriage his old dressing-gown was almost torn to pieces, every
one crowding to kiss it, or his feet, calling him their father and
protector, and anxiously inquiring for his health. A Te Deum was
sung--if not so splendid, much more full of the ring of joy than the
grand one two days before! Engravings of his portrait were sold
about the streets, bearing the inscription 'Pierre Broussel, father
of his country;' and the good-natured old man seemed quite bewildered
at the honours that had befallen him.
There were a few more alarms that night and the next day, but at last
they subsided, the barricades were taken down, and things returned to
their usual state, at least to all outward appearance.
CHAPTER XVII.
A PATIENT GRISEL
Matters seemed to be getting worse all round us both in France and
England. King Charles was in the hands of his enemies, and all the
good news that we could hear from England was that the Duke of York
had escaped in a girl's dress, and was on board the fleet at
helvoetsluys, where his brother the Prince of Wales jointed him.
And my own dear brother, Lord Walwyn, declared that he could no
longer remain inactive at Paris, so far from intelligence, but that
he must be with the Princes, ready to assist in case anything should
be attempted on the King's behalf.
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