and meet again,
each Order in its separate place, to-morrow morning, for despatch of
business. This is the determination of the royal breast: pithy and
clear. And herewith King, retinue, Noblesse, majority of Clergy file
out, as if the whole matter were satisfactorily completed.

These file out; through grim-silent seas of people. Only the Commons
Deputies file not out; but stand there in gloomy silence, uncertain what
they shall do. One man of them is certain; one man of them discerns and
dares! It is now that King Mirabeau starts to the Tribune, and lifts up
his lion-voice. Verily a word in season; for, in such scenes, the moment
is the mother of ages! Had not Gabriel Honore been there,--one can well
fancy, how the Commons Deputies, affrighted at the perils which now
yawned dim all round them, and waxing ever paler in each other's
paleness, might very naturally, one after one, have glided off; and the
whole course of European History have been different!

But he is there. List to the brool of that royal forest-voice;
sorrowful, low; fast swelling to a roar! Eyes kindle at the glance of
his eye:--National Deputies were missioned by a Nation; they have
sworn an Oath; they--but lo! while the lion's voice roars loudest,
what Apparition is this? Apparition of Mercurius de Breze, muttering
somewhat!--"Speak out," cry several.--"Messieurs," shrills De Breze,
repeating himself, "You have heard the King's orders!"--Mirabeau glares
on him with fire-flashing face; shakes the black lion's mane: "Yes,
Monsieur, we have heard what the King was advised to say: and you who
cannot be the interpreter of his orders to the States-General; you,
who have neither place nor right of speech here; you are not the man to
remind us of it. Go, Monsieur, tell these who sent you that we are here
by the will of the People, and that nothing shall send us hence but the
force of bayonets!" (Moniteur (Hist. Parl. ii. 22.).) And poor De Breze
shivers forth from the National Assembly;--and also (if it be not in one
faintest glimmer, months later) finally from the page of History!--

Hapless De Breze; doomed to survive long ages, in men's memory, in this
faint way, with tremulent white rod! He was true to Etiquette, which
was his Faith here below; a martyr to respect of persons. Short woollen
cloaks could not kiss Majesty's hand as long velvet ones did. Nay
lately, when the poor little Dauphin lay dead, and some ceremonial
Visitation came, was he not pu