ith "the foulest
propositions," the second one, "a so-called conqueror of the Bastille,"
formerly porte-tete for Foulon and Berthier, and since driven out of
the battalion, the third, a market-porter, who, "for more than an hour,"
armed with a saber, makes a terrible effort to make his way to the
king.[2550]--Nothing is done. The king remains impassible under every
threat. He takes the hand of a grenadier who wishes to encourage him,
and, placing it on his breast, bids him, "See if that is the beating of
a heart agitated by fear."[2551] To Legendre and the zealots who call
upon him to sanction, he replies without the least excitement:

"I have never departed from the Constitution.... I will do what the
Constitution requires me to do.... It is you who break the law."
--And, for nearly three hours, remaining standing, blockaded on his
bench,[2552] he persists in this without showing a sign of weakness
or of anger. This cool deportment at last produces an effect, the
impression it makes on the spectators not being at all that which they
anticipated. It is very clear that the personage before them is not the
monster which has been depicted to them, a somber, imperious tyrant, the
savage, cunning Charles IX. they had hissed on the stage. They see a man
somewhat stout, with placid, benevolent features, whom they would take,
without his blue sash, for an ordinary, peaceable bourgeois.[2553] His
ministers, near by, three or four men in black coats, gentlemen and
respectable employees, are just what they seem to be. In another window
recess stands his sister, Madame Elizabeth, with her sweet and innocent
face. This pretended tyrant is a man like other men; he speaks gently,
he says that the law is on his side, and nobody says the contrary;
perhaps he is less wrong than he is thought to be. If he would only
become a patriot!--A woman in the room brandishes a sword with a cockade
on its point; the King makes a sign and the sword is handed to him,
which he raises and, hurrahing with the crowd, cries out: Vive la
Nation! That is already one good sign. A red cap is shaken in the air at
the end of a pole. Some one offers it to him and he puts it on his head;
applause bursts forth, and shouts of Vive la Nation! Vive la Liberte!
and even vive le Roi!

From this time forth the greatest danger is over. But it is not that the
besiegers abandon the siege. "He did damned well," they exclaim, "to put
the cap on, and if he hadn't we would hav