oadjutor, has caused this
tumult, and that he has power to allay it. That nothing can be more
unfounded than the idea that there has been any design to remove the
king. That both his majesty and his brother, the Duke of Anjou, are
asleep in their beds, as I myself had been until the uproar in the
streets had caused me to rise." To satisfy the messenger, M. de
Souches, she led him into the chamber of the king, and showed him his
majesty apparently soundly asleep.

As they were softly retiring from the room, the outcry of the populace
filling the court-yard was heard shouting "The king! the king! we must
see the king." The queen regent hesitated for a moment, and then, with
wonderful presence of mind, and with moral and physical courage rarely
equaled, turning to the envoy of _Monsieur_, said,

"Say to the people that the doors of the palace shall be immediately
thrown open, and that every one who wishes may enter the chamber of
the king. But inform them that his majesty is asleep, and request them
to be as quiet as is possible."

M. Souches obeyed. The doors were opened. The mob rushed in.
Nevertheless, contrary to all expectation, they had no sooner reached
the royal apartment than their leaders, remembering that their king
was sleeping, desired the untimely visitors to proceed in perfect
quiet. As the human tide moved onward, their very breathing was
suppressed. They trod the floor with softest footsteps. The same
tumultuous multitude that had howled, and yelled, and threatened
outside the gates, now, in the chamber of the sovereign, became calm,
respectful, and silent. They approached the royal bed with a feeling
of affectionate deference, which restrained every intruder from
drawing back the curtains.

The queen herself performed this office. She stood at the pillow of
her son, beautiful in features, of queenly grace in form and stature.
Pale, calm, and dignified as though she were performing some ordinary
court ceremonial, she gathered back the folds of the velvet drapery,
and revealed to the gaze of the people their young sovereign in all
the beauty of youth, and apparently in profound slumber.

This living stream of men and women from the streets of Paris
continued to flow through the chamber until three o'clock in the
morning, entering at one door and passing out at its opposite.
Through this trying scene the queen never faltered.

"Like a marble statue," writes Miss Pardoe, "she retained her
position, fi