ouring one another,
they will not harass their neighbors nor their allies."

She does not enter into details; the pomp and ceremony of their reception
by nobles and magistrates had been in her eyes as nothing in comparison
with the cordial welcome given to them by the poorer citizens. While they,
on their part, must have been equally gratified at perceiving the sincere
pleasure with which she and the dauphin accepted their salutations; a
feeling how different from that which had animated any of their princes
for many years, we may judge from the order given to the guards to forbear
beating the crowd which gathered round them, as no doubt, without such an
order, the soldiers would have thought it usual and natural to do.

Not that the proceedings of the day had not been magnificent and imposing
enough to attract the admiration of any who thought less of the hearts of
the citizens than of pomp and splendor. The royal train, conveyed from
Versailles in six state carriages, was received at the city gate by the
governor, the Marshal Duc de Brissac, accompanied by the head of the
police, the provost of the merchants, and all the other municipal
authorities. The marshal himself was the heir of the Comte de Brissac who,
nearly two centuries before, being also Governor of Paris, had tendered to
the victorious Henry IV. the submission of the city. But Henry was as yet
only the chief of a party, not the accepted sovereign of the whole nation;
and the enthusiasm with which half the citizens rained their shouts of
exultation in his honor had its drawback in the sullen silence of the
other half, who regarded the great Bourbon as their conqueror rather than
their king, and his triumphant entrance as their defeat and humiliation.

To-day all the citizens were but one party. As but one voice was heard, so
but one heart gave utterance to it. The joy was as unanimous as it was
loud. From the city gates the royal party passed on to the great national
cathedral of Notre Dame, and from thence to the church dedicated by
Clovis, the first Christian king, to St. Genevieve, whose recent
restoration was the most creditable work of the present reign, and which
subsequently, under the new name of the Pantheon, was destined to become
the resting-place of many of the worthies whose memory the nation
cherishes with enduring pride. At last they reached the Tuileries, their
progress having been arrested at different points by deputations of all
kinds w