“It is the Queen!” screamed several fierce voices. And they were the voices of women.
In a moment, they turned upon her.
The abhorred Queen was before them, as they thought. In another moment she would have been killed.
“It is Madame Elizabeth!” cried the soldiers.
The mob fell back with reverence. Even at that point they could respect Elizabeth, the purity and simplicity of whose life formed the one favorable point in the united lives of the royal family, and one to which the whole mass of the people gave implicit credence.
But she was to die with her family.
“Ah! what have you done?” she cried. “Had they been allowed to take me for the Queen, and have killed me, I had perhaps saved the Queen’s life!”
By this time, about twenty of the King’s friends stood about him, their swords drawn.
“Put up your swords,” said the King; “this multitude’s more excited than guilty.”
“Where is the Austrian?” now resounded upon all sides.