Six women of wild demeanor, with dusty, dirty clothes, their hair
streaming out from their round white caps, were assembled in the
cabinet of the king, and stared at him with defiant eyes as he
entered. But his gentle demeanor and pleasant voice appeared to
surprise them; and Louise Chably, the speaker, who had selected the
women, found only timid, modest words, with which to paint to the
king the misfortune, the need, and the pitiable condition of the
people, and with which to entreat his pity and assistance.
"Ah, my children," answered the king with a sigh, "only believe me,
it is not my fault that you are miserable, and I am still more
unhappy than you. I will give directions to Corbeil and D'Estampes,
the controllers of the grain-stores, to give out all that they can
spare. If my commands had always been obeyed, it would be better
with us all! If I could do every thing, could see to it that my
commands were everywhere carried into effect, you would not be
unhappy; and you must confess, at least, that your king loves you as
a father his children, and that nothing lies so closely at his heart
as your welfare. Go, my children, and tell your friends to prove
worthy of the love of their king, and to return peaceably to Paris."
[Footnote: The king's own words.--See. A. de Beauchesne, "Louis
XVI.
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