Adrienne leaned over the balustrade, and looked down at her brother and Monsieur de Lafayette, who saw her at the same instant.  Smiling and bowing, she flung a handful of roses, which she had carried all morning, at the gentlemen, who uncovered and waved her their thanks.  As they did so, a sudden blare of trumpets and strains of martial music burst forth, and the black-robed deputies of the clergy appeared, separated into two files by the band of royal musicians.

“’Tis like a play, n’est ce pas?” said Adrienne, gayly, to Mr. Morris, who had again come up, having been dismissed by Madame de Flahaut on the arrival of Monsieur de Curt.

“No, ’tis but the prologue,” corrected Mr. Morris, “and the play itself is like enough to be a tragedy, I think,” he added, in a low voice, to Calvert.

“And here are the King and Queen at last,” cried Madame de St. Andre, as a great cheering went up.  Every eye in that vast throng was riveted upon the King, who now appeared, preceded by the Archbishop of Paris carrying the Holy Sacrament under a great canopy, the four corners of which were held by the Dukes of Angouleme and Berry and the King’s two brothers, Monsieur and the Comte d’Artois.  Near the Holy Sacrament marched the cardinals, bishops, and archbishops elected to the States-General, and in the throng Calvert quickly and easily detected by his halting step his acquaintance, the Bishop of Autun.  About His Majesty walked the high officers of the crown, and the enthusiasm of Madame de Stael, which had been on the increase every instant, reached a climax when she recognized Monsieur Necker, conspicuous by his size and bearing, among the entourage of Louis, and, when she courtesied, the obeisance seemed intended more for her father than her King.

“You are wrong to rejoice so greatly,” said Madame de Montmorin, laying a timid hand on Madame de Stael’s arm, which trembled with excitement.  She had scarce said a word the whole morning and had sat staring with troubled face at the magnificent pageant as it passed.  “I feel sure that great disasters to France will follow this day’s business.”

Madame de Stael impatiently shook off the detaining hand. “’Tis the day of days,” she cried, enthusiastically, “the day for which my father has labored so long, the day on which will be written the brightest page of French history.”

“I verily believe she thinks the States-General are come together to the sole honor and glorification of Monsieur, Necker,” whispered Mr. Morris, in an amused undertone, to Calvert.  “But look yonder, to the right of the King!  There go our friends of the Palais Royal, the young Duc de Chartres and Monsieur de Beaujolais!  Tis strange the Duc d’Orleans is not near the King.  He curries favor with the multitude by abandoning his sovereign on this crucial day and putting himself forward as an elected deputy of the States-General!  And there to the left of His Majesty is the Queen with the princesses.  Is she not beautiful, Ned?—­though Beaufort tells me she has lost much of the brilliancy of her beauty in the last year.  Indeed, she has an almost melancholy air,-but I think it is becoming, for otherwise she would be too haughty-looking.”