But she had determined on the righteous course: she trod her jealousy underfoot; she immolated her secret joys and wrath to the sanctity of the conjugal oath. No doubt from heaven was sent this salutary love to raise her husband and children above all else. Her pride, too, lifted her above earthly desires and she could be selfish without deserving blame.
As the coach came up, she descended the steps, and when its door was opened, and Louis stepped out, she did not notice how the grooms and footmen hastened to tear off the rosettes and streamers of the new popular colors with which Billet and Pitou and others of the throng had decorated the vehicle and horses.
With an outcry of love and delight the Queen embraced the King. She sobbed as though she had fully expected never again to see him.
In her impulse of an overburdened heart, she did not remark the hand-grasp the Charnys exchanged in the darkness.
As the royal children kissed their father, the elder boy spied the cockade reddened by the torchlight on his father's hat and exclaimed with his childish astonishment:
"Oh, papa, what is on your white cockade—blood?"
It was the national Red.
Spying it herself, the Queen plucked it off with profound disgust as the King stooped as if to kiss his daughter but really to hide his shame. The mad woman did not think that she was insulting the nation, which would repay her at an early day.
"Throw the thing away," she cried, casting it down the steps so that all the escort tramped over it.
This strange transition extinguished her phase of marital love. She looked round for Charny without appearing to do so; he had fallen back into the ranks like a soldier.