And now a pretty, rosy, youthful girl came forward, and using the coarsest possible language, upbraided the Queen savagely.
“Pray what harm have I done you?”
“Me?—perhaps not. But what harm have you not done the nation?”
“Poor child!” the Queen replied. “You but repeat what you have been told. Why should I make the people miserable? Though not born a Frenchwoman, my children are French, and I shall never see my native land again. I was happy when you loved me!”
The girl’s head fell.
“I did not know you,” she said; “and I see now that you are good!”
And now Santerre—good name for a leader of the people—approached.
“Take the cap off the child!” he cried; “don’t you see that he is stifling?”
The crowd was tremendous.
And approaching the Queen he whispered, “You have some awkward friends here. I know of some who would serve you better.”