A general cry of horror followed these words, which rolled like a crashing thunder-clap through the careless, coquetting, and unsuspecting company. Then followed a breathless silence.
All eyes were directed to the cardinal, who, pale as death, and yet maintaining his noble carriage, walked along at ease.
At this point a young officer, pale like the cardinal, like all in fact, approached the great ecclesiastic, and gently took his arm.
"Cardinal," said he, with sorrowful tone, "in the name of the king, I arrest your eminence. I am ordered, monseigneur, to conduct you to the Bastile."
"Come, then, my son," answered the cardinal, quickly, making his way slowly through the throng, which respectfully opened to let him pass—" come, since the king commands it, let us go to the Bastile."
He passed on to the door. But when the officer had opened it, he turned round once more to the hall. Standing erect, with all the exalted dignity of his station and his person, he gave the amazed company his blessing.
Then the door closed behind him, and with pale faces the lords and ladies of the court dispersed to convey the horrible tidings to Versailles and Paris, that the king had caused the cardinal, the grand almoner of France, to be arrested in his official robes, and that it was the will of the queen.
And the farther the tidings rolled the more the report enlarged, like an avalanche of calumnies.
In the evening, Marat thundered in his club: "Woe, woe to the Austrian! She borrowed money of the Cardinal de Rohan to buy jewels for herself, jewels while the people hungered. Now, when the cardinal wants his money, the queen denies having received the money, and lets the head of the Church be dragged to the Bastile.
"Woe, woe to the Austrian!"