trange scene with undefined dread, unconscious of the
magnitude of their peril. The queen, seated upon a bale of goods in
the shop, with her two children clinging to her side, plead, at times
with the tears of despair, and again with all the majesty of her
queenly nature, for pity or for justice. She hoped that a woman's
heart throbbed beneath the bosom of the wife of the mayor, and made an
appeal to her which one would think that, under the circumstances, no
human heart could have resisted.

"You are a mother, madame," said the queen, in most imploring accents,
"you are a wife! the fate of a wife and mother is in your hands. Think
what I must suffer for these children--for my husband. At one word from
you I shall owe them to you. The Queen of France will owe you more than
her kingdom--more than life."

"Madame," coldly replied the selfish and calculating woman, "I should be
happy to help you if I could without danger. You are thinking of your
husband, I am thinking of mine. It is a wife's first duty to think of
her own husband."

The queen saw that all appeals to such a spirit must be in vain, and,
taking her two children by the hand, with Madame Elizabeth ascended the
stairs which conducted from the grocer's shop to his rooms above, where
she was shielded from the gaze of the crowd. She threw herself into a
chair, and, overwhelmed with anguish, burst into a flood of tears. The
alarm bell continued to ring; telegraphic dispatches were sent to Paris,
communicating tidings of the arrest; the neighboring villagers flocked
into town; the National Guard, composed of people opposed to the king,
were rapidly assembled from all quarters, and the streets barricaded to
prevent the possibility of any rescue by the soldiers who advocated the
royal cause. Thus the dreadful hours lingered away till the morning
dawned. The increasing crowd stimulated one another to ferocity and
barbarity. Insults, oaths, and imprecations incessantly fell upon the
ears of the captives. The queen probably endured as much of mental agony
that night as the human mind is capable of enduring. The conflict of
indignation, terror, and despair was so dreadful, that her hair, which
the night previous had been auburn, was in the morning white as snow.
This extraordinary fact is well attested, and indicates an enormity of
woe almost incomprehensible.

There was no knowledge in Paris of the king's departure until seven
o'clock in the morning, when the servant