shots which were whistling by her, she
persisted in exposing herself at the open window to beg for their lives;
and when a friend, M. Luzerne, placed himself before her, that his body
might be her shield from the bullets, she gently, but firmly, with her
hand, pressed him away, saying, "The king can not afford to lose so
faithful a servant as you are."

At length the crowd began vigorously to shout, "The queen! the queen!"
demanding that she should appear upon the balcony. She immediately came
forth, with her children at her side, that, as a mother, she might
appeal to their hearts. The sight moved the sympathies of the multitude;
and execrating, as they did, Maria Antoinette, whom they had long been
taught to hate, they could not have the heart, in cold blood, to
massacre these innocent children. Thousands of voices simultaneously
shouted, "Away with the children!" Maria, apparently without the tremor
of a nerve, led back her children, and again appearing upon the balcony
alone, folded her arms, and, raising her eyes to heaven, stood before
them, a self-devoted victim. The heroism of the act changed for a moment
hatred to admiration. Not a gun was fired; there was a moment of
silence, and then one spontaneous burst of applause rose apparently from
every lip, and shouts of "Vive la reine! vive la reine!" pierced the
skies.

[Illustration: MOB AT VERSAILLES.]

And now the universal cry ascends, "To Paris! to Paris!" La Fayette,
with the deepest mortification, was compelled to inform the king that
he had no force at his disposal sufficient to enable him to resist
the demands of the mob. The king, seeing that he was entirely at the
mercy of his foes, who were acting without leaders and without plan,
as the caprice of each passing moment instigated, said, "You wish, my
children, that I should accompany you to Paris. I can not go but on
condition that I shall not be separated from my wife and family." To
this proposal there was a tumultuous assent. At one o'clock, the king
and queen, with their two children, entered the royal carriage to be
escorted by the triumphant mob as captives to Paris. Behind them, in a
long train, followed the carriages of the king's suite and servants.
Then followed twenty-five carriages filled with the members of the
National Assembly. After them came the thirty-five thousand troops
of the National Guard; and before, behind, and around them all,
a hideous concourse of vagabonds, male and female,