ully: "Why did you undeceive him? it might have saved the
queen." But after a few seconds, Acloque with some grenadiers of the
National Guard on whom he could still rely, hastened up by a back
staircase to defend his sovereign; and, with the aid of some of the
gentlemen who had come with the Marshal de Noailles, drew the king back
into a recess formed by a window; and raised a rampart of benches in front
of him, and one still more trustworthy of their own bodies. They would
gladly have attacked the rioters and driven them back, but were restrained
by Louis himself. "Put up your swords," said he; "this crowd is excited
rather than wicked." And he addressed those who had forced their way into
the room with words of condescending conciliation. They replied with
threats and imprecations; and sought to force their way onward, pressing
back by their mere numbers and weight the small group of loyal champions
who by this time had gathered in front of him.

So great was the uproar that presently a report reached the main body of
the insurgents, who were still in the garden beneath, that Louis had been
killed; and they mingled shouts of triumph with cheers for Orleans as
their new king, and demanded that the heads of the king and queen should
be thrown down to them from the windows; but no actual injury was
inflicted on Louis, though he owed his safety more to his own calmness
than even to the devotion of his guards. One ruffian threatened him with
instant death if he did not at once grant every prayer contained in their
petition. He replied, as composedly as if he had been on his throne at
Versailles, that the present was not the time for making such a demand,
nor was this the way in which to make it. The dignity of the answer seemed
to imply a contempt for the threateners, and the mob grew more uproarious.
"Fear not, sire," said one of Acloque's grenadiers, "we are around you."
The king took the man's hand and placed it on his heart, which was beating
more calmly than that of the soldier himself. "Judge yourself," said he,
"if I fear." Legendre, the butcher, raised his pike as if to strike him,
while he reproached him as a traitor and the enemy of his country. "I am
not, and never have been aught but the sincerest friend of my people," was
the gentle but fearless answer. "If it be so, put on this red cap," and
the butcher thrust one into his hand on the end of his pike, prepared, as
Louis believed, to plunge the weapon itself int