She raised herself up, and when she saw that the king had gone out,
she started toward the door.
Her faithful friends stopped the way; they reminded her that she was
not simply a queen, that she was a mother, too. They conjured her
with tears to give ear to prudence--not to rush in vain into danger,
and imperil the king still more.
"No one shall hinder me from doing what is my duty," cried the
queen. "Leave the doorway free."
But her friends would not yield; they defied even the wrath of the
queen. At that moment, some of the National Guards came in through
another door, and pacified Marie Antoinette, assuring her that the
life of the king was not threatened.
In the mean while the shouting came nearer and nearer, the cries
resounded from the guard-room, the doors were torn open, and the
people surged in, in immense waves, like the sea lashed into fury by
the storm. The National Guards rolled a table before the queen and
her children, and placed themselves at the two sides to defend them.
Only a bit of wood now separated the queen from her enemies, who
brandished their weapons at her. But Marie Antoinette had now
regained her whole composure. She stood erect; at her right hand,
her daughter, who nestled up to her mother--at her left, the
dauphin, who, with wide-open eyes and looks of astonishment, gazed
at the people bursting in.
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