their mute joy was raised to heaven with astonishment and gratitude for their safety.  The faithful national guard, the generals attached to the king, Marshal de Mouchy, M. d’Aubier, Acloque, congratulated the king on the courage and presence of mind he had displayed.  They mutually related the perils which they had escaped, the infamous remarks, gestures, looks, arms, costumes, and sudden repentance of this multitude.  The king at this moment having accidently passed a mirror, saw on his head the bonnet rouge, which had not been taken off; he turned very red, and threw it at his feet, then casting himself into an arm-chair, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and looking at the queen, exclaimed, “Ah, madame! why did I take you from your country to associate you with the ignominy of such a day?”

XXV.

It was eight o’clock in the evening.  The agony of the royal family had lasted for five hours.  The national guard of the neighbouring quarters, assembling by themselves, arrived singly, in order to lend their aid to the constitution.  There were still heard from the king’s apartment tumultuous footsteps, and the sinister cries of the columns of people, who were slowly filing off by the courts and garden.  The constitutional deputies ran about in indignation, uttering imprecations against Petion and the Gironde.  A deputation of the Assembly went over the chateau in order to take cognisance of the violence and disorder resulting from this visitation of the faubourgs.  The queen pointed out to them the forced locks, the bursten hinges, the bludgeons, pike irons, panels, and the piece of cannon loaded with small shot, placed on the threshold of the apartments.  The disorder of the attire of the king, his sister, the children, the bonnets rouges, the cockades forcibly placed on their heads; the dishevelled hair of the queen, her pale features, the tremulousness of her lips, her eyes streaming with tears, were tokens more evident than these spoils left by the people on the battle ground of sedition.  This spectacle moistened the eyes, and excited the indignation, even of the deputies most hostile to the court.  The queen saw this:  “You weep, sir?” she said to Merlin.  “Yes, madame,” replied the stoic deputy; “I weep over the misfortunes of the woman, the wife, and the mother; but my sympathy goes no further.  I hate kings and queens!”

Such was the day of the 20th of June.  The people displayed discipline in disorder, and forbearance in violence:  the king, heroic intrepidity in his resignation; and some of the Girondists, a cold brutality which gives to ambition the mask of patriotism.

XXVI.