Part 45 (1/2)

”I am not afraid,” said Marie Antoinette, calmly; ”no one need ever be afraid who is among brave people,” and with a graceful gesture she extended her hands to the National Guards who stood by the table.

A general shout of applause followed the words of the queen; the National Guards covered her hands with kisses, and even the women were touched.

”How courageous the Austrian is!” cried one. ”How handsome the prince is!” cried another, and all pressed up to get a nearer view of the dauphin, and a smile or a look from him.

The great eyes of Santerre remained fixed upon the queen, and resting both arms upon the table he leaned over to her until his mouth was close by her ear.

”Madame,” he whispered, ”you have very unskilful friends; I know people who would serve you better, who--”

But as if ashamed of this touch of sympathy, he stopped, sprang back from the table, and with a thundering voice, commanded all present to march out and leave the palace.

They obeyed his command, filed out in military order past the table, behind which stood the queen with her children and her faithful friends.

A rare procession, a rare army, consisting of men armed with pikes, hatchets, and spades, of women brandis.h.i.+ng knives and scissors in their hands, and all directing their countenances, before hyena-like and scornful, but now subdued and sympathetic, to the queen, who with calm eye and gentle look responded to the salutations of the retreating crowd with a friendly nod.

In the mean while the long-delayed help had reached the king: the National Guards had overcome the raging mult.i.tude, and gained possession of the great reception-room where Louis was. The mayor of Paris, Petion, had come at last, and, hailed loudly by the crowd which occupied the whole s.p.a.ce in the rear of the National Guards, he approached the king.

”Sire,” said he, ”I have just learned what is going on here.”

”I am surprised at that,” answered the king, with a reproachful look, ”the mayor of Paris ought to have learned before this about this tumult, which has now been lasting three hours.”

”But is now at an end, sire, since I have come,” cried Petion, proudly. ”You have now nothing more to fear, sire.”

”To fear?” replied Louis with a proud shrug. ”A man who has a good conscience does not fear. Feel,” he said, taking the hand of the grenadier who stood at his side, ”lay your hand upon my heart, and tell this man whether it beats faster.” [Footnote: The king's words.

The grenadier's name whose hand the king took, was Lalanne. Later, in the second year of ”the one and indivisible republic,” he was condemned to die by the guillotine, because, as stated in the sentence, he showed himself on the 30th of June, 1798, as a common servant of tyranny, and boasted to other citizens that Capet took his hand, laid it upon his heart, and said: ”Feel, my friend, whether it beats quicker.”--See Hue, ”Dernieres Annees de Louis Seize,” p. 180.]

Petion now turned to the people and commanded them to withdraw.

”Fellow-citizens,” said he, ”you began this day wisely and worthily; you have proved that you are free. End the day as you began it.

Separate peaceably; do as I do, return to your houses, and go to bed!” The mult.i.tude, flattered by Petion's praises, began to withdraw, and the National Guards escorted the king into the great council-chamber, where a deputation of the National a.s.sembly had met to pay their respects to the king.

”Where is the queen, where are the children?” cried the king, as, exhausted, he sank into a chair.

His gentlemen hastened out to bring them, and soon the queen and the children came in. With extended arms Marie Antoinette hastened to her husband, and they remained a long time locked in their embrace.

”Papa king,” cried the dauphin, ”give me a kiss, too! I have deserved it, for I was brave and did not cry when the people put the red cap on my head.”

The king stooped down to the child and kissed his golden hair, and then pressed his little daughter, who was nestling up to him, to his heart.

The deputies stood with curious looks around the group, to whom it was not granted, even after such a fearful day and such imminent peril, to embrace each other, and thank G.o.d for their preservation, without witnesses.

”Confess, madame,” said one of the deputies to Marie Antoinette, in a confidential tone, ”confess that you have experienced great anxiety.”

”No, sir,” replied the queen, ”I have not been anxious, but I have suffered severely, because I was separated from the king at a moment when his life was threatened. I had at least my children with me, and so could discharge one of my duties.”

”I will not excuse every thing that took place to-day,” said the deputy, with a shrug. ”But confess at least, madame, that the people conducted themselves very well.”

”Sir, the king and I are convinced of the natural good-nature of the people; they are only bad when they are led astray.”

Some other deputies approached the dauphin, and directed various questions to him, in order to convince themselves about his precocious understanding that was so much talked about.