of talent and noble feeling. "A
feeling of pride which I cannot much blame in a young man belonging to the
Tiers Etat," she said, "made him applaud everything which smoothed the
road to rank and fame for that class in which he was born. And if we get
the power in our own hands again, Barnave's pardon is already written on
our hearts." The Queen added, that she had not the same feeling towards
those nobles who had joined the revolutionary party, who had always
received marks of favour, often to the injury of those beneath them in
rank, and who, born to be the safeguard of the monarchy, could never be
pardoned for having deserted it. She then told me that Barnave's conduct
upon the road was perfectly correct, while Potion's republican rudeness
was disgusting; that the latter ate and drank in the King's berlin in a
slovenly manner, throwing the bones of the fowls out through the window at
the risk of sending them even into the King's face; lifting up his glass,
when Madame Elisabeth poured him out wine, to show her that there was
enough, without saying a word; that this offensive behaviour must have
been intentional, because the man was not without education; and that
Barnave was hurt at it. On being pressed by the Queen to take something,
"Madame," replied Barnave, "on so solemn an occasion the deputies of the
National Assembly ought to occupy your Majesties solely about their
mission, and by no means about their wants." In short, his respectful
delicacy, his considerate attentions, and all that he said, gained the
esteem not only of the Queen, but of Madame Elisabeth also.

The King began to talk to Petion about the situation of France, and the
motives of his conduct, which were founded upon the necessity of giving to
the executive power a strength necessary for its action, for the good even
of the constitutional act, since France could not be a republic. "Not yet,
'tis true," replied Petion, "because the French are not ripe enough for
that." This audacious and cruel answer silenced the King, who said no
more until his arrival at Paris. Potion held the little Dauphin upon his
knees, and amused himself with curling the beautiful light hair of the
interesting child round his fingers; and, as he spoke with much
gesticulation, he pulled his locks hard enough to make the Dauphin cry
out. "Give me my son," said the Queen to him; "he is accustomed to
tenderness and delicacy, which render him little fit for such
familiari