The queen drew the king back.
"Here comes the dauphin!" called out voices. "Long live the hope of the realm!"
Nobody took up the cry. The poor boy had come in at the wrong time; as theatrical language says, he had missed his cue.
The king went back into the palace, a downright retreat—almost a flight. When he got to his private rooms he dropped, puffing and blowing, into an easy-chair.
Stopping by the door, the queen looked around for some support. She spied Charny standing up by the door of her own rooms, and she went over to him.
"Ah, all is lost!" she moaned.
"I am afraid so, my lady," replied the Life Guardsman.
"Can we not still flee?"
"It is too late."
"What is left for us to do, then?"