Upon the great balcony of the palace at Versailles stood the queen, awaiting the return of the king. The thousands of voices raised in behalf of Louis XVI. and the nation had drawn Marie Antoinette to the balcony, after remaining in her own room with thoughts full of evil forebodings. She held the dauphin in her arms, and led her little daughter. Her eyes, from which the heavy veils of sadness were now withdrawn, cast joyful glances over the immense, shouting crowds of people approaching the palace, at whose head she joyfully recognized her husband, the king, wearing an expression of cheerfulness which for a time she had not seen on his face.
When the king caught sight of his wife, he hastened to remove his hat and salute her. But few of the deputies followed the royal example, and silently, without any salutation, without any cries of acclamation, they looked up at the queen. Marie Antoinette turned pale, and stepped hack with her children into the hall.
"It is all over," she said, with a gush of tears, "it is all over with my hopes. The Queen of France is still to be the poorest and most unhappy woman in France, for she is not loved, she is despised."
Two soft young arms were laid around her neck, and with a face full of sorrow, and with tears in his great blue eyes, the dauphin looked up to the disturbed countenance of his mother.
"Mamma queen," he whispered, pressing fondly up to her, "mamma queen, I love you and everybody loves you, and my dear brother in heaven prays for you."
With a loud cry of pain, that escaped her against her will, the queen pressed her son to her heart and covered his head with her kisses.
"Love me, my son, love me," she whispered, choking, "and may thy brother in heaven pray for me that I may soon be released from the pains which I suffer!"
But as she heard now the voice of the king without, taking leave of his retinue with friendly words, Marie Antoinette hastily dried her tears, and putting down the dauphin, whispered to him, "Do not tell papa that I have been crying," and in her wonted lofty bearing, with a smile upon her trembling lips, she went to meet her husband.
As it grew late and dark in the evening, several baggage-wagons heavily laden and tightly closed moved noiselessly and hastily from the inner courts of the palace, and took the direction toward the country. In these carriages were the Count d'Artois, the Duke d'Angouleme, and the Duke de Berry, the Prince de Conde, the Duke de Bourbon, and the Duke d'Enghein, who were leaving the kingdom in secret flight.
Louis XVI. had tried to quiet the anxieties of his brother, the Count d'Artois, by advising him to leave France for some time, and to remain in a foreign land, until the times should be more quiet and peaceful. The other princes, although not so sorely threatened with popular rage as the Count d'Artois, whose head had already been demanded at Paris, had, with the exception of the king's other brother, been so overcome with their anxieties as to resolve upon flight. They were followed on the next day by the new ministers, who now, yielding to the demands of the National Assembly, had handed in their resignation to the king, but did not consider it safe to remain within range of the capital.