Marie Antoinette had advanced a few steps. Not a trace of grief and
disquiet was longer to be seen in her face. Her figure was erect,
her glance was proud and full of fire, and the expression of her
countenance noble and majestic. She was still the queen, though not
surrounded by the solemn pomp which attended the public audiences at
Versailles. She did not stand on the purple-carpeted step of the
throne, no gold-embroidered canopy arched over her, no crowd of
brilliant courtiers surrounded her, only her husband stood near her;
her son clung to her side, and his teacher, the Abbe Davout, timidly
withdrew into the background. These formed all her suite. But Marie
Antoinette did not need external pomp to be a queen; she was so in
her bearing, in every look, in every gesture. With commanding
dignity she allowed the deputation to approach her, and to speak
with her. She listened with calm attention to the words of the
speaker, who, in the name of the court, gave utterance to the deep
horror with which the treasonable actions of the day before had
filled him. He then humbly begged the queen to give such names of
the rioters as might be known to her, that they might be arrested,
but Marie Antoinette interrupted him in his address.
"No, sir," she cried, "no, never will I be an informer against the
subjects of the king.
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