"The country is in danger!"
This last line was dreadful, and rang in all hearts. It was the shriek of the nation, of the motherland, of France. It was the parent calling on her offspring to help her.
And ever and anon the guns kept thundering.
On all the large open places platforms were run up for the voluntary enlistments. With the intoxication of patriotism, the men rushed to put their names down. Some were too old, but lied to be inscribed; some too young, but stood on tiptoe and swore they were full sixteen.
Those who were accepted leaped to the ground, waving their enrollment papers, and cheering or singing the "Let it go on," and kissing the cannon's mouth.
It was the betrothal of the French to war—this war of twenty odd years, which will result in the freedom of Europe, although it may not altogether be in our time.
The excitement was so great that the Assembly was appalled by its own work; it sent men through the town to cry out: "Brothers, for the sake of the country, no rioting! The court wishes disorder as an excuse for taking the king out of the city, so give it no pretext. The king should stay among us."
These dread sowers of words added in a deep voice:
"He must be punished."
They mentioned nobody by name, but all knew who was meant.