But the royal words found no response among the excited masses. "We are hungry, we want bread," shouted the women. "We are not going to live on words any more. The king shall give us bread, and then we shall see it proved that he loves us like a father; then we will go back to Paris. If the baker believes that he can satisfy us with words and fine speeches, he is mistaken."
"If he has no bread, he shall give us his wife to eat!" roared a man with a pike in his hand and a red cap on his head. "The baker's wife has eaten up all our bread, and it is no more than fair that we should eat her up now."
"Give us the heart of the queen," was now the cry, "give us the heart of the queen!"
Marie Antoinette heard the words, but she appeared not to be alarmed. With dignity and composure, she cast a look at the ministers and gentlemen, who, pale and speechless, had gathered around the royal couple.
"I know that this crowd has come from Paris to demand my head! I learned of my mother not to fear death, and I shall meet it with courage and steadfastness." [Footnote: The words of the queen.--See "Histoire de Marie Antoinette," p. 194.]
And firmly and fearlessly Marie Antoinette remained all this dreadful evening, which was now beginning to overshadow Versailles.
Outside of the palace raged the uproar; revolutionary songs were sung; veiled forms, the leaders of the revolution, stole around, and fired the people with new rage against the baker and the baker's wife. Torches were lighted to see by, and the blood-red glare shone into the faces there, and tended to exasperate them still more. What dances were executed by the women, with torches in their hands! and the men roared in accompaniment, ridiculing the king and threatening the queen with death.
At times the torches threw their flickering glare into the windows of the palace, where were the ministers and servants of the king, in silent horror. Among all those counsellor of the king, there was at this time but one Man, Marie Antoinette! She alone preserved her steadfastness and discretion; she spoke to every one friendly, inspiriting words. She roused up the timid; at times she even attempted to bring the king to some decisive action, and yet she did not complain when she found herself unable to do so.
Once her face lighted up in hope and joy. That was when a company of deputies, headed by Toulan, entered the hall, to offer their services to the royal couple, and to ask permission to be allowed to remain around the king and queen.
But scarcely had this request been granted, when both the secretaries of the president of the National Assembly entered, warning the members, in the name of the president, to return at once to the hall and to take part in the night session which was to be held.
"They call our last friends away from us," murmured the queen, "for they want us to be entirely defenceless!"
All at once the cries on the square below were more violent and loud; musket-shots were heard; at the intervals between rose the thousand-voiced clamor, and at one time the thunder of a cannon.
There was a rush of horses, and clash of arms, more musket-shots, and then the cry of the wounded.
The king had withdrawn to hold a last consultation with his ministers and a few faithful friends. At this fearful noise, this sound of weapons, this shout of victory, his first thought was of the queen. He rose quickly and entered the hall.
No one was there; the red glare of the torches was thrown from below into the deserted room, and showed upon the wall wondrous shadows of contorted human figures, with clinched fists and with raised and threatening arms.
The king walked hastily through the fearfully illuminated hall, called for the queen with a loud voice, burst into the cabinet, then into her sleeping-room, but no Marie Antoinette was to be found--no one gave reply to the anxious call of the king.
More dreadful grew the wild shrieks and howls, the curses and maledictions which came in from without.
The king sprang up the little staircase which led to the rooms of the children, and dashed through the antechamber, where the door was open that led to the dauphin's sleeping-room.
And here Louis stood still, and looked with a breath of relief at the group which met his tearful eyes. The dauphin was lying in his bed fast asleep, with a smile on his face. Marie Antoinette stood erect before the bed in an attitude of proud composure.
"Marie," said the king, deeply moved--"Marie, I was looking for you."
The queen slowly turned her head toward him and pointed at the sleeping prince.