The king sprang up the little staircase which led to the rooms of the children, and dashed through the antechamber, where the door was open that led to the dauphin's sleeping-room.
And here Louis stood still, and looked with a breath of relief at the group which met his tearful eyes. The dauphin was lying in his bed fast asleep, with a smile on his face. Marie Antoinette stood erect before the bed in an attitude of proud composure.
"Marie," said the king, deeply moved—"Marie, I was looking for you."
The queen slowly turned her head toward him and pointed at the sleeping prince.
"Sire," answered she calmly, "I was at my post." [Footnote: This conversation, as well as this whole scene, is historical.—See Beauchesne's "Louis XVII.," vol. i.]
Louis, overcome by the sublimity of a mother's love, hastened to his wife and locked her in his arms.
"Remain with me, Marie," he said. "Do not leave me. Breathe your courage and your decision into me."
The queen sighed and sadly shook her head. She had not a word of reproach; she did not say that she no longer believed in the courage and decision of the king, but she had no longer any hope.
But the doors of the room now opened. Through one came the maids of the queen and the governess of the dauphin; through the other, some gentlemen of the court, to call the king back into the audience- hall.
After the first panic, every one had come back to consciousness again, and all vied in devoting themselves to the king and the queen. The gentlemen brought word that something new had occurred, and that this was the cause of the dreadful tumult below upon the square. The National Guard of Paris had arrived; they had fraternized with the National Guard of Versailles, and with the people; they had been received by the women with shouts of applause, and by the men with a volley of musket-shots in salutation. General Lafayette had entered the palace to offer his services to the king, and he now asked for an audience.