met him at the entrance of the
building, with the assurance that a Republic was inevitable, and that
all the Republicans were looking to him as their leader and future
President. These assurances may not have swayed his judgment. But
many who had supposed that his strong predelictions were for royalty
were not a little surprised when he ascended the tribune, and said,

"There is but one way to save the people from the danger which a
revolution, in our present social state, threatens instantly to
introduce, and that is to trust ourselves to the force of the people
themselves--to their reason, their interests, their aims. It is a
_republic_ which we require. Yes, it is a Republic which alone can
save us from anarchy, civil war, foreign war, spoliation, the
scaffold, destruction of property, the overthrow of society, the
invasion of foreigners. The remedy is heroic. I know it. But there
are occasions, such as those in which we live, when the only safe
policy is that which is grand and audacious as the crisis itself."

As Lamartine left the tribune, M. Thiers entered, flushed with
excitement. All eyes were anxiously fixed upon him. Taking his place
in the tribune, he simply remarked, "The tide is rising," at the same
time, with dramatic gesture, lifting his hat above his head. As he
again disappeared in the crowd, there was a general increase of
alarm. It was manifest to all that affairs were now sweeping along in
a swollen current which human sagacity could but feebly control. The
roar of the throng surging around the hall filled the air. The
strongest minds were appalled.

Just then the folding-doors of the Chamber were thrown open, and the
Duchess of Orleans, leading the Count de Paris by one hand and the
Duke de Chartres by the other, was ushered in. Lamartine, an
eye-witness, gives the following account of the scene: "A respectful
silence immediately ensued. The Deputies, in deep anxiety, crowded
around the august princess, and the strangers in the gallery leaned
over, hoping to catch some words which might fall from her lips. She
was dressed in mourning. Her veil, partially raised, disclosed a
countenance the emotion and melancholy of which enhanced the charms
of youth and beauty. Her pale cheeks were marked by the tears of the
widow, the anxieties of the mother. No man could look on her
countenance without being moved. Every feeling of resentment against
the monarchy faded away before the spectacle. The blue eyes