A general shout of applause followed the words of the queen; the National Guards covered her hands with kisses, and even the women were touched.
"How courageous the Austrian is!" cried one. "How handsome the prince is!" cried another, and all pressed up to get a nearer view of the dauphin, and a smile or a look from him.
The great eyes of Santerre remained fixed upon the queen, and resting both arms upon the table he leaned over to her until his mouth was close by her ear.
"Madame," he whispered, "you have very unskilful friends; I know people who would serve you better, who—"
But as if ashamed of this touch of sympathy, he stopped, sprang back from the table, and with a thundering voice, commanded all present to march out and leave the palace.
They obeyed his command, filed out in military order past the table, behind which stood the queen with her children and her faithful friends.
A rare procession, a rare army, consisting of men armed with pikes, hatchets, and spades, of women brandishing knives and scissors in their hands, and all directing their countenances, before hyena-like and scornful, but now subdued and sympathetic, to the queen, who with calm eye and gentle look responded to the salutations of the retreating crowd with a friendly nod.
In the mean while the long-delayed help had reached the king: the National Guards had overcome the raging multitude, and gained possession of the great reception-room where Louis was. The mayor of Paris, Petion, had come at last, and, hailed loudly by the crowd which occupied the whole space in the rear of the National Guards, he approached the king.
"Sire," said he, "I have just learned what is going on here."
"I am surprised at that," answered the king, with a reproachful look, "the mayor of Paris ought to have learned before this about this tumult, which has now been lasting three hours."