her pride, which she derived from her nature even more than from her blood, her close connection with the Comte D’Artois, her intrigues with the emigrants, her presumed complicity with the coalition, the scandalous or infamous libels disseminated against her for four years—­made this princess the spied victim of public opinion.  The women despised her as a guilty wife, the patriots detested her as a conspirator, political men feared her as the counsellor of the king.  The name of Autrichienne which the people gave her, summed up all their alleged wrongs against her.  She was the unpopularity of a throne of which she should have been the grace and forgiveness.

Marie Antoinette was aware of this hatred of the people to her person.  She knew that her presence beside the king would be a provocation to assassination.  This was the motive that restrained her to remain alone with her children in the bed-chamber.  The king hoped that she was forgotten, but it was the queen particularly the women of this mob sought and called for in terms the most offensive for a wife, a woman, and a queen.

The king was scarcely surrounded by the masses of people in the OEil de Boeuf than the doors of the sleeping apartment were beset with the same uproar and violence.  But this party was principally composed of women.  Their weaker arms were not so efficient against oaken panels and stout hinges.  They called to their assistance the men who had carried the piece of ordnance into the Salle des Gardes, and they hastened to them.  The queen was standing up, pressing her two children to her bosom, and listening with mortal anxiety to the vociferations at her door.  She had near her no one but M. de Lajard, minister of war,—­alone, powerless, but devoted; a few ladies of her suite, and the Princesse de Lamballe, that friend of her happy and unhappy hours.  Daughter-in-law of the Duc de Penthievre, and sister-in-law of the Duc d’Orleans, the Princesse de Lamballe had succeeded in the queen’s heart to that deep affection which Marie Antoinette had long entertained for the Comtesse de Polignac.  The friendship of Marie Antoinette was adoration.  Chilled by the coldness of the king, who had the virtues only, and not the graces of a husband; detested by the people, weary of the throne, she gave vent in private predilections to the overflow of a heart equally desirous and void of sentiment.  This favouritism was even accused; the queen was calumniated in her very friendships.

The Princesse de Lamballe, a widow at eighteen, free from any suspicion of levity, above all ambition and every interest from her rank and fortune, loved the queen as a friend.  The more adverse were the fortunes of Marie Antoinette, the more did her young favourite desire to share them with her.  It was not greatness, but misfortune, that attracted her. Surintendante of the household, she lodged in the Tuileries, in an apartment adjacent to the queen, to share with her