Based on Journal of My Life|During the French Revolution During the Revolution, at the end of Rue Miromesnil, a new street|north of the Champs-Elysées, stood the townhouse|of Grace Elliott. The ''Grand Lady'',|as she was known, was born in 1 760|of an old Scottish family. She studied in France, married SirJohn Elliott, then left him to become the mistress|of the Prince of Wales, the future George IV, to whom she bore a daughter. Then she was noticed|by Prince Philippe, Duke of Orleans who brought her to France in 1 786. Their affair ended|but they remained close friends. The Duke had two houses in Paris. One at Palais-Royal, the other on the site|of today's Parc Monceau, not far from Rue Miromesnil. Pretty posies! Fresh water! Who wants a drink? Returning from England,|the Duke paid me a visit on the eve of Federation Day,|one year after the Bastille fell. Our enemies will fall confounded and we'll sing alleluia.! Good times are coming... We all swore to stand united. The whole universe will be told of this glorious oath our hearts uphold. Long live Orleans! Long live the Nation! ''Master Fox, attracted by the scent,|addressed him thus, ''Master... Mister...'' ''Mr. Crow, good day.'' ''Mr. Crow, good day.|You are handsome, I say!'' ''What a beautiful bird!|You are handsome, I say!'' The Duke of Orleans. Show him in. Prince! What joy! I heard you had arrived, but... I didn't expect you so soon. Yet your journey|seemed to last a century. Letters from England. Curtsy to the Prince. What's your name? Julie. That's all for now.|The lesson's over. Go and play. Forgive her,|she has no social graces. I haven't finished dressing|but you may stay. Take a seat. I have been taking care of that little girl. Her mother lost her husband and lives in great hardship|with four other children. Your devotion to the poor|is a constant wonder, my dear. It exceeds the bounds of Christian charity|and revolutionary fraternity combined. I deserve no credit. She is the light of my life, my only consolation for my own daughter's absence. Did you see her? She's become a real beauty. She asks for you. All of London is waiting for you. The sweetness of life there takes us back a few years. Why didn't you stay longer,|my friend? I came back to...|dispel certain rumors, alas! Word has it that I dared not return. At the Federation rally tomorrow, they'll be surprised|to see me walk in the procession. It's the best way to quash the rumors. I won't be mistaken|for a cowardly émigré. Cowardly, yes. However, their fears are founded. But you, my fearless friend,|have stayed. I am an étrangére. These past two days,|I have guests from the country here for the parade. As you know, new ideas|leniently implemented by the lawful authorities,|have my full approval. The ''lawful authority''|- Louis, in this case - does not implement them. He hates all friends of Liberty, commencing with me. How do you know? He keeps insulting me. Remember, after the Bastille fell I traveled to Versailles to ask him for my orders. He answered me harshly, ''I have nothing to say to you.'' He was right! I've always felt more alien to him than to my cook or coachman. He is your cousin. My family is the Nation. I am more French than Bourbon. The whole court|is colluding with the enemy. You sound like a Jacobin. Yes, and I highly approve of my son's desire|to join their club. Surely no Orleans belongs with them. We belong wherever there are patriots. See where your false friends lead you! Excepting the Duke of Biron. I've asked him to dine with us. I'm delighted. His only fault is his weakness. At least he is loyal to you. But... the Talleyrands... the Mirabeaus... those turncoats have left you|at the mercy of monsters, while Merlin de Douai|and your rascally cohort, Laclos, who has brought your party|into such disrepute... Laclos has an outstanding mind and deep insights. He's the author of a filthy novel. I have little regard for the book. It's profoundly boring. It sent me to sleep. Granted, I do not read much. I'm no judge of letters. Grace... I'm so happy to see you again. I cherish your company and yet, alas, you have nothing|but harsh truths for me. But they are not true. You've been misled... although... I trust you are sincere. The Royalists have turned your head. The Sansculottes|have turned yours even more. You'll be your own downfall. Grace, listen. Hurry back to your homeland. Take my prudent advice. Your revolutionaries|will be your downfall, and with it, the King's. You could save him. Save Louis!|He's digging his own grave by defying|the sovereign people's will. What a way to speak! The only sovereign I know is the King, no one else. You are a proud Scotswoman who|loves nothing but kings and princes. I love the king of my adopted country. I care little for Louis. I love my Queen. I detest her. I wish I could break|her influence over you. She is a lady of great refinement. I've never heard her say a single word against you. And despite my friendship with you, she trusts me completely. She sent you to Belgium... - You know!|- I have spies. But I won't tell a soul. I know. But honestly, some people in Paris|should hold their tongues. We live in a world of... slanderers. I do not believe them. I don't believe|what they say about the Queen, or about you.|For they slander you too. I don't believe|you fomented the October riots by bribing the French Guards. Nonsense! All lies,|spread by La Fayette and his clique. While the Queen... No, enough! I respect your fondness|for an undeserving monarchy. I blame no one for their opinion|of the Revolution if they respect mine... but I'm more tolerant|than either side, alas! Grace, I implore you, go back home. There is still time before events get out of hand. I love you and I want you safe. I'll miss you cruelly, but go! As long as I can see the Queen, even occasionally,|I feel it's my duty to stay here. The day of August 1 0th Nanon! Death to the Austrian woman! Lord, they're at it again|like last month, when they forced the red cap|on the King's head. Everyone's at the Tuileries Palace!|All the working folk and the delegates|from the countryside! Good times are coming.!|String up the aristocrats.! It's the King's last hour! Mr. and Mrs. Let-them-eat-cake|are goners! Hush! What about their Swiss Guards? They're done for.|I saw them run like rabbits! Your Louis will hang within the hour. Quiet, or I'll tell Madame. She'd do better|to keep out of sight! The Tuileries Palace is on fire. The rioters massacred|the Swiss Guards. My God! How's the King? With the Queen and their children,|he was seen fleeing to the Assembly. I hope they won't be thrown to the mob. Your cook says|they'll arrest all aristocrats. She's always talked nonsense before. Now, anything is possible... If only I'd gone to Meudon! Maybe there's still time.|HaveJustin prepare the carriage. The city barriers are closed.|No one can get out. Then we can only pray. If I may suggest... We could go through|the Duke's garden. To reach Meudon? We'd have to walk halfway|around Paris. And I refuse to implicate the Duke. I suspect today's rioters,|like those ofJune 20th, are Marat's henchmen|and no friends of the Duke. Does Madame remember Baptiste,|the doorman? He lives behind the Invalides. In Paris. Yes, but there's a breach|in his garden wall. Long live the Nation! Long live the Nation! Please step up, Madame. Let us part here.|I'll go on alone. Give me that. You must stay in Paris|to mind the house. Tell my people I'm in Meudon. They mustn't think I've fled abroad. God help you. God help you, especially. Poor Madame! What a calamity!|You came alone, on foot? Jeannette! Weren't you afraid of being waylaid, alone at night, on the road? I saw worse in Paris. Nevertheless, at the foot of Meudon hill, I heard a man's footsteps|which scared me more than the murderous mob|on Place Louis XV. I went and hid behind a log. Didn't he see you? If he had,|what would have befallen me? He may have been|a harmless peasant. What are you up to?|Give me that! Madame isn't here. I'm to deliver it in person! Madame Elliott? I am she. From Madame Meyler. ''Please obtain a travel permit ''for you and your manservant... ''and come alone to Paris, ''where someone|badly needs your help.'' Grace Georgina Elliott, née Dalrymphe. Spell it how you like. Darlymphe, English citizen, you may go to Paris with one servant,|but be back by midnight. Halt! ''The citizen may go to Paris|with one servant, but must be back by midnight.'' Where is the servant? I sent him back to get... papers I need in Paris. Follow me. Elliott, English citizen... With a servant? Yes, but I told him... She sent him back|for some papers she forgot. Let her wait for him, but not too long. She must be home|before the permit expires. Tell me, milady, what possessed you|to enter Paris now? The jails are full of corpses, the streets are awash with blood... Everyone is desperate to leave town, and you want to come in? My mother is dyin...
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