But as for the coming up of this Regiment de Flandre, may it not be urged that there were Saint-Huruge Petitions, and continual meal-mobs?  Undebauched Soldiers, be there plot, or only dim elements of a plot, are always good.  Did not the Versailles Municipality (an old Monarchic one, not yet refounded into a Democratic) instantly second the proposal?  Nay the very Versailles National Guard, wearied with continual duty at the Chateau, did not object; only Draper Lecointre, who is now Major Lecointre, shook his head.—­Yes, Friends, surely it was natural this Regiment de Flandre should be sent for, since it could be got.  It was natural that, at sight of military bandoleers, the heart of the rallied Oeil-de-Boeuf should revive; and Maids of Honour, and gentlemen of honour, speak comfortable words to epauletted defenders, and to one another.  Natural also, and mere common civility, that the Bodyguards, a Regiment of Gentlemen, should invite their Flandre brethren to a Dinner of welcome!—­Such invitation, in the last days of September, is given and accepted.

Dinners are defined as ‘the ultimate act of communion;’ men that can have communion in nothing else, can sympathetically eat together, can still rise into some glow of brotherhood over food and wine.  The dinner is fixed on, for Thursday the First of October; and ought to have a fine effect.  Further, as such Dinner may be rather extensive, and even the Noncommissioned and the Common man be introduced, to see and to hear, could not His Majesty’s Opera Apartment, which has lain quite silent ever since Kaiser Joseph was here, be obtained for the purpose?—­The Hall of the Opera is granted; the Salon d’Hercule shall be drawingroom.  Not only the Officers of Flandre, but of the Swiss, of the Hundred Swiss, nay of the Versailles National Guard, such of them as have any loyalty, shall feast:  it will be a Repast like few.

And now suppose this Repast, the solid part of it, transacted; and the first bottle over.  Suppose the customary loyal toasts drunk; the King’s health, the Queen’s with deafening vivats;—­that of the Nation ‘omitted,’ or even ‘rejected.’  Suppose champagne flowing; with pot-valorous speech, with instrumental music; empty feathered heads growing ever the noisier, in their own emptiness, in each other’s noise!  Her Majesty, who looks unusually sad to-night (his Majesty sitting dulled with the day’s hunting), is told that the sight of it would cheer her.  Behold!  She enters there, issuing from her State-rooms, like the Moon from the clouds, this fairest unhappy Queen of Hearts; royal Husband by her side, young Dauphin in her arms!  She descends from the Boxes, amid splendour and acclaim; walks queen-like, round the Tables; gracefully escorted, gracefully nodding; her looks full of sorrow, yet of gratitude and daring, with the hope of France on her mother-bosom!  And now, the band striking up, O Richard, O mon Roi, l’univers t’abandonne (O Richard, O my King, and world is all forsaking thee)—­could