Her Majesty too, on demand, shows herself, though there is peril in it:  she steps out on the balcony, with her little boy and girl.  “No children, Point d’enfans!” cry the voices.  She gently pushes back her children; and stands alone, her hands serenely crossed on her breast:  “should I die,” she had said, “I will do it.”  Such serenity of heroism has its effect.  Lafayette, with ready wit, in his highflown chivalrous way, takes that fair queenly hand; and reverently kneeling, kisses it:  thereupon the people do shout Vive la Reine.  Nevertheless, poor Weber ‘saw’ (or even thought he saw; for hardly the third part of poor Weber’s experiences, in such hysterical days, will stand scrutiny) ’one of these brigands level his musket at her Majesty,’—­with or without intention to shoot; for another of the brigands ‘angrily struck it down.’

So that all, and the Queen herself, nay the very Captain of the Bodyguards, have grown National!  The very Captain of the Bodyguards steps out now with Lafayette.  On the hat of the repentant man is an enormous tricolor; large as a soup-platter, or sun-flower; visible to the utmost Forecourt.  He takes the National Oath with a loud voice, elevating his hat; at which sight all the army raise their bonnets on their bayonets, with shouts.  Sweet is reconcilement to the heart of man.  Lafayette has sworn Flandre; he swears the remaining Bodyguards, down in the Marble Court; the people clasp them in their arms:—­O, my brothers, why would ye force us to slay you?  Behold there is joy over you, as over returning prodigal sons!—­The poor Bodyguards, now National and tricolor, exchange bonnets, exchange arms; there shall be peace and fraternity.  And still “Vive le Roi;” and also “Le Roi a Paris,” not now from one throat, but from all throats as one, for it is the heart’s wish of all mortals.

Yes, The King to Paris:  what else?  Ministers may consult, and National Deputies wag their heads:  but there is now no other possibility.  You have forced him to go willingly.  “At one o’clock!” Lafayette gives audible assurance to that purpose; and universal Insurrection, with immeasurable shout, and a discharge of all the firearms, clear and rusty, great and small, that it has, returns him acceptance.  What a sound; heard for leagues:  a doom peal!—­That sound too rolls away, into the Silence of Ages.  And the Chateau of Versailles stands ever since vacant, hushed still; its spacious Courts grassgrown, responsive to the hoe of the weeder.  Times and generations roll on, in their confused Gulf-current; and buildings like builders have their destiny.

Till one o’clock, then, there will be three parties, National Assembly, National Rascality, National Royalty, all busy enough.  Rascality rejoices; women trim themselves with tricolor.  Nay motherly Paris has sent her Avengers sufficient ‘cartloads of loaves;’ which are shouted over, which are gratefully consumed.  The Avengers, in return, are searching for grain-stores; loading them in fifty waggons; that so a National King, probable harbinger of all blessings, may be the evident bringer of plenty, for one.