More dreadful grew the wild shrieks and howls, the curses and
maledictions which came in from without.
The king sprang up the little staircase which led to the rooms of
the children, and dashed through the antechamber, where the door was
open that led to the dauphin's sleeping-room.
And here Louis stood still, and looked with a breath of relief at
the group which met his tearful eyes. The dauphin was lying in his
bed fast asleep, with a smile on his face. Marie Antoinette stood
erect before the bed in an attitude of proud composure.
"Marie," said the king, deeply moved--"Marie, I was looking for
you."
The queen slowly turned her head toward him and pointed at the
sleeping prince.
"Sire," answered she calmly, "I was at my post." [Footnote: This
conversation, as well as this whole scene, is historical.--See
Beauchesne's "Louis XVII.," vol. i.]
Louis, overcome by the sublimity of a mother's love, hastened to his
wife and locked her in his arms.
"Remain with me, Marie," he said. "Do not leave me. Breathe your
courage and your decision into me."
The queen sighed and sadly shook her head. She had not a word of
reproach; she did not say that she no longer believed in the courage
and decision of the king, but she had no longer any hope.
But the doors of the room now opened.
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