Marie-Antoinette, more moved than even the King had been, replied in a broken voice, striving to repress her tears—
“Gentlemen, be assured of the interest that we take in your misfortunes, and assure ... the Colony also ... that the King will leave no stone unturned to send them——”[61]
She was unable to finish; the anguish of those before her, the thought that they also were watching in agonizing uncertainty the ruin of their dearest hopes—such a communion of kindred suffering was too much for the Queen. Moreover, what now could be done by the fugitives of Varennes? Every day it was growing clearer that they were prisoners in this Tuileries Palace.
The Queen left them, to hear Mass. During her absence Mme. de Tourzel, the Dauphin’s governess, happened to enter the apartment where the planters still lingered, thrilled and touched by the scene that had just taken place. She presented the little Dauphin to them. He opened his eyes wide at the sight of all the black coats. “Monseigneur was very, very sorry,” said Mme. de Tourzel, “when he was told of all the sad things that are happening in the Colony; he feels very deeply for all the sorrows of the gentlemen.”
“Yes, indeed I do,” said the Dauphin, in his little voice.
One can imagine the impression which would have been left by this picture upon these serious men, come to invoke their Sovereign’s aid, and most of whom were ardent defenders of the Royalist cause. Their president, in particular, was never to forget this reception; and the vision of the little Duke of Normandy, with his fair curling hair, his clear eyes, and his ineffably sweet expression, was to remain for ever in the man’s heart. Perhaps he heard, later on, the charming story that Mme. de Tourzel tells in her memoirs, of how, when the delegates were gone, and the Dauphin alone with his mother, he was told in a few words of the Colonists’ misfortunes, and forthwith begged her to give him their address.
“What are you going to do with it?” the Queen asked him.
“I want to put it in my left pocket, because that’s the nearest to my heart.”
Before finally withdrawing, the delegates went also to Mme. Elizabeth, who received them with equal sympathy. They were leaving the palace, when, on passing in front of the chapel, they met with the Queen, who was returning to her apartments, after having heard Mass. “Gentlemen,” she said to them, “I was not able to answer you just now, but the cause of my silence will have spoken to you eloquently enough.”
On the evening of the same day, in their night-session, the planters broke into applause at the reading of the account of their visit to the Tuileries. What a memory it was! And yet, how much they had still to fear! They had been able to read between the lines of the kindly Royal speeches; they knew that the goodwill of their Sovereigns would have to encounter the hostile intentions of the National Assembly, and that the promised help would be long in coming. And, in fact, the Decree of December 7, while ordering the despatch of troops, put a very stringent limitation to their powers, and confirmed the rights accorded to the coloured races.