Our little army marched for Thionville.  We went five or six leagues a day.  The weather was desperate.  We began the siege of Thionville, and in a few days were reinforced by Austrian cannon and cannoneers.  The besieged made an attack on us, and in this action we had several wounded and some killed.  We relinquished the siege of Thionville and set out for Verdun, which had surrendered to the allies.  The passage of Frederic William was attested on all sides by garlands and flowers.  In the midst of these trophies of peace I observed the Prussian eagle displayed on the fortifications of Verdun.  It was not to remain long; as for the flowers, they were destined to fade, like the innocent creatures who had gathered them.  One of the most atrocious murders of the reign of terror was that of the young girls of Verdun.

“Fourteen young girls of Verdun, of rare beauty, and almost like young virgins dressed for a public fete, were,” says Riouffe, “led in a body to the scaffold.  I never saw among us any despair like that which this infamous act excited.”

I had been wounded during the siege of Thionville, and was suffering badly.  While I was asleep, a splinter from a shell struck me on the right thigh.  Roused by the stroke, but not being sensible of the pain, I only saw that I was wounded by the appearance of the blood.  I bound up my thigh with my handkerchief.  At four in the morning we thought the town had surrendered, but the gates were not opened, and we were obliged to think of a retreat.  We returned to our positions after a harassing march of three days.  While these drops of blood were shed under the walls of Thionville, torrents were flowing in the prisons of Paris; my wife and sisters were in greater danger than myself.

At Verdun, fever after my wound undermined my strength, and smallpox attacked me.  Yet I began a journey on foot of two hundred leagues, with only eighteen livres in my pocket.  All for the glory of the monarchy!  I intended to try to reach Ostend, there to embark for Jersey, and thence to join the royalists in Brittany.  Breaking down on the road, I lay insensible for two hours, swooning away with a feeling of religion.  The last noise I heard was the whistling of a bullfinch.  Some drivers of the Prince de Ligne’s waggons saw me, and in pity lifted me up and carried me to Namur.  Others of the prince’s people carried me to Brussels.  Here I found my brother, who brought a surgeon and a doctor to attend to me.  He told me of the events of August 10, of the massacres of September, and other political news of which I had not heard.  He approved of my intention to go to Jersey, and lent me twenty-five louis-d’or.  We were looking on each other for the last time.

After reaching Jersey, I was four months dangerously ill in my uncle’s house, where I was tenderly nursed.  Recovering, I went in 1793 to England, landing as a poor emigre where now, in 1822, I write these memoirs, and enjoy the dignity of ambassador.