more about it;
my decision is made."--"Ah! Sire, you said the same thing when, in
this very room, and in presence of the Queen, you gave me your word to
sanction them."--"I was wrong, and I repent of it."--"Sire, I shall
never see you again; pardon my frankness; I am fifty-three, and I have
some experience. It was not then that you were wrong, but now. Your
conscience is abused concerning this decree against the priests; you
are being forced into civil war; you are helpless, and you will be
overthrown, and history, though it may pity you, will reproach you with
having caused all the misfortunes of France. On your account, I fear
your friends still more than your enemies."--"God is my witness {173}
that I wish for nothing but the welfare of France."--"I do not doubt
it, Sire; but you will have to account to God, not solely for the
purity but also for the enlightened execution of your intentions. You
expect to save religion, and you destroy it. The priests will be
massacred and your crown torn from you. Perhaps even your wife, your
children..." Emotion prevented Dumouriez from going on. Tears stood
in his eyes. He kissed the hand of Louis XVI. respectfully. The King
wept also, and for a moment both were silent. "Sire," resumed
Dumouriez, "if all Frenchmen knew you as well as I do, our woes would
soon be ended. Do you desire the welfare of France? Very well! That
demands the sacrifice of your scruples ... You are still master of
your fate. Your soul is guiltless; believe a man exempt from passion
and prejudice, and who has always told you the truth."--"I expect my
death," replied Louis XVI. sadly, "and I forgive them for it in
advance. I thank you for your sensibility. You have served me well; I
esteem you, and if a happier time shall ever come, I will prove it to
you." With these words the King rose sadly, and went to a window at
the end of the apartment. Dumouriez gathered up his papers slowly, in
order to gain time to compose his features; he was unwilling to let his
emotion become evident to the persons at the door as he went out.
"Adieu," said the King kindly, "and be happy!"

As he was leaving, he met his friend Laporte, intendant of the civil
list. The two, who were meeting {174} for the last time, went into
another room and closed the door. "You advised me to resign," said
Laporte, "and I meant to do so, but I have changed my mind. My master
is in danger, and I will share his fate."--"If I w