by the double tie of misfortune and fidelity.  At the sight of the Duc d’Orleans, whose reconciliation with the king had not as yet transpired, astonishment and horror appeared on every face, and an indignant murmur followed the announcement of his name.  The crowd opened and shrank from him, as though his touch was odious to them.  In vain did he seek one glance of respect or welcome amongst all these gloomy visages.  As be approached the king’s chamber, the courtiers and guards barred his entrance by turning their backs, and crowding together as if by accident, repulsed him:  he entered the apartments of the queen, where the royal family’s dinner was prepared.  “Look to the dishes,” cried voices, as though some public and well-known poisoner had been seen to enter.  The indignant prince turned alternately pale and red, and imagined that these insults were offered him, at the instigation of the queen, and the order of the king.  As he descended the stairs to quit the palace, fresh cries and outrages followed him; some even spat on his coat and head.  A poignard stab would have been far less painful to bear than these withering marks of hatred and contempt.  He had entered the palace appeased, he quitted it implacable; he felt that his only refuge against the court was in the last ranks of democracy, and he enrolled himself resolutely in them to find safety or vengeance.

The king and queen, who were soon informed of these insults, of which, however, they were utterly innocent, took no steps to make any reparation for them; possibly they were secretly flattered by the wrath of their adherents, and the humiliation of their enemy.  The queen was too prodigal of her favour, and too hasty in her displeasure; the king did not want kindness, but grace; one word, such as Henri IV. knew so well how to employ, would have punished these insulters, and have brought the prince to his feet, yet he knew not how to say it; resentment brooded over her wrongs in silence, and destiny took its course.

XII.

The Duc d’Orleans severed himself on that day from the Girondists, to whom he was alone held by Petion and Brissot, and passed over to the side of the Jacobins; he opened his palace to Danton and Barrere, and no longer followed any but the extreme party, which he adopted without hesitation in silence, even to the republic, to regicide, to death.

XIII.

However, the alarm with which the preparations of the emperor inspired the people, and the mischief excited by the speeches of the Girondists against the court and the ministers, agitated the capital more and more every day.  At each fresh communication from M. de Lessart, minister of foreign affairs, the party of the Gironde raised a fresh cry of war and treason.  Fauchet denounced the minister.  Brissot exclaimed, “The mask has fallen,—­our enemy is now known,—­it is the emperor.