l Guard, and M. d'Acloque, an officer of
the National Guard, brought military experience to aid their valor, and
made such arrangements as the time and character of the building rendered
practicable to keep the rioters at bay. But the utmost bravery of such a
handful of men, for they were no more, and even the more solid resistance
of iron gates and barriers, were unavailing against the thousands that
assailed them. Exasperated at finding the gates closed against them, the
rioters began to beat upon them with sledge-hammers. Presently they were
joined by Sergent and Panis, two of the municipal magistrates, who ordered
the sentinels to open the gates to the sovereign people. The sentinels
fled; the gates were opened or broken down; the mob seized one of the
cannons which stood in the Place du Carrousel, carried it up the stairs of
the palace, and planted it against the door of the royal apartments; and,
while they shouted out a demand that the king should show himself, they
began to batter the door as before they had battered the gates, and
threatened, if it should not yield to their hatchets, to blow it down with
cannon-shot.

Fear of personal danger was not one of the king's weaknesses. The hatchets
beat down the outer door, and, as it fell, he came forth from the room
behind, and with unruffled countenance accosted the ruffians who were
pouring through it. His sister, the Princess Elizabeth, was at his side.
He had charged those around him to keep the queen back; and she, knowing
how special an object of the popular hatred and fury she was, with a
fortitude beyond that which defies death, remained out of sight lest she
should add to his danger. For a moment the mob, respecting, in spite of
themselves, the calm heroism with which they were confronted, paused in
their onset; but those in front were pushed on by those behind, and pikes
were leveled and blows were aimed at both the king and the princess, whom
they mistook for the queen. At first there were but one or two attendants
at the king's side, but they were faithful and brave men. One struck down
a ruffian who was lifting his weapon to aim a blow at Louis himself. A
pike was even leveled at his sister, when her equerry, M. Bousquet, too
far off to bring her the aid of his right hand, called out, "Spare the
princess." Delicate as were her frame and features, Elizabeth was worthy
of her blood, and as dauntless as the rest. She turned to her preserver
almost reproachf