The contest has begun; you must fight it through or die!"
But the queen did not raise her head again. She looked unspeakably
sad in her simple, unadorned attire--in her modest, gentle bearing--
and it was most touching to see the pale, fair features which sought
in vain to disclose nothing of the painful emotions of her soul.
The king now arose from his throne and removed his plumed hat. At
once Marie Antoinette rose from her armchair, in order to listen
standing to the address of the king.
"Madame," said the king, bowing to her lightly, "madame, be seated,
I beg of you."
"Sire," answered Marie Antoinette, calmly, "allow me to stand, for
it does not become a subject to sit while the king is standing."
A murmur ran through the rows of men, and loud, scornful laughter
from one side. Marie Antoinette shrank back as if an adder had
wounded her, and with a flash of wrath her eyes darted in the
direction whence the laugh had come. It was from Philip d'Orleans.
He did not take the trouble to smooth down his features; he looked
with searching, defiant gaze over to the queen, proclaiming to her
in this glance that he was her death-foe, that he was bent on
revenge for the scorn which she had poured out on the spendthrift-
revenge for the joke which she had once made at his expense before
the whole court.
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