plan.  “How is it, Madame,” wrote Barnave to the Queen, “that you will persist in giving these people even the smallest doubt as to your sentiments?  When they decree you a civil and a military household, you, like young Achilles among the daughters of Lycomedes, eagerly seize the sword and scorn the mere ornaments.”  The Queen persisted in her determination to have no civil household.  “If,” said she, “this constitutional household be formed, not a single person of rank will remain with us, and upon a change of affairs we should be obliged to discharge the persons received into their place.”

“Perhaps,” added she, “perhaps I might find one day that I had saved the nobility, if I now had resolution enough to afflict them for a time; I have it not.  When any measure which injures them is wrested from us they sulk with me; nobody comes to my card party; the King goes unattended to bed.  No allowance is made for political necessity; we are punished for our very misfortunes.”

The Queen wrote almost all day, and spent part of the night in reading:  her courage supported her physical strength; her disposition was not at all soured by misfortunes, and she was never seen in an ill-humour for a moment.  She was, however, held up to the people as a woman absolutely furious and mad whenever the rights of the Crown were in any way attacked.

I was with her one day at one of her windows.  We saw a man plainly dressed, like an ecclesiastic, surrounded by an immense crowd.  The Queen imagined it was some abbe whom they were about to throw into the basin of the Tuileries; she hastily opened her window and sent a valet de chambre to know what was going forward in the garden.  It was Abbe Gregoire, whom the men and women of the tribunes were bringing back in triumph, on account of a motion he had just made in the National Assembly against the royal authority.  On the following day the democratic journalists described the Queen as witnessing this triumph, and showing, by expressive gestures at her window, how highly she was exasperated by the honours conferred upon the patriot.

The correspondence between the Queen and the foreign powers was carried on in cipher.  That to which she gave the preference can never be detected; but the greatest patience is requisite for its use.  Each correspondent must have a copy of the same edition of some work.  She selected “Paul and Virginia.”  The page and line in which the letters required, and occasionally a monosyllable, are to be found are pointed out in ciphers agreed upon.  I assisted her in finding the letters, and frequently I made an exact copy for her of all that she had ciphered, without knowing a single word of its meaning.