both Majesties. Sister Elizabeth takes the
Queen to the window: "Sister, see what a beautiful sunrise," right over
the Jacobins church and that quarter! How happy if the tocsin did not
yield! But Mandat returns not; Petion is gone: much hangs wavering in
the invisible Balance. About five o'clock, there rises from the Garden a
kind of sound; as of a shout to which had become a howl, and instead
of Vive le Roi were ending in Vive la Nation. "Mon Dieu!" ejaculates a
spectral Minister, "what is he doing down there?" For it is his Majesty,
gone down with old Marshal Maille to review the troops; and the nearest
companies of them answer so. Her Majesty bursts into a stream of tears.
Yet on stepping from the cabinet her eyes are dry and calm, her look
is even cheerful. 'The Austrian lip, and the aquiline nose, fuller than
usual, gave to her countenance,' says Peltier, (in Toulongeon, ii. 241.)
'something of Majesty, which they that did not see her in these moments
cannot well have an idea of.' O thou Theresa's Daughter!

King Louis enters, much blown with the fatigue; but for the rest with
his old air of indifference. Of all hopes now surely the joyfullest
were, that the tocsin did not yield.

Chapter 2.6.VII.

The Swiss.

Unhappy Friends, the tocsin does yield, has yielded! Lo ye, how with
the first sun-rays its Ocean-tide, of pikes and fusils, flows glittering
from the far East;--immeasurable; born of the Night! They march there,
the grim host; Saint-Antoine on this side of the River; Saint-Marceau on
that, the blackbrowed Marseillese in the van. With hum, and grim murmur,
far-heard; like the Ocean-tide, as we say: drawn up, as if by Luna and
Influences, from the great Deep of Waters, they roll gleaming on;
no King, Canute or Louis, can bid them roll back. Wide-eddying
side-currents, of onlookers, roll hither and thither, unarmed, not
voiceless; they, the steel host, roll on. New-Commandant Santerre,
indeed, has taken seat at the Townhall; rests there, in his
half-way-house. Alsatian Westermann, with flashing sabre, does not rest;
nor the Sections, nor the Marseillese, nor Demoiselle Theroigne; but
roll continually on.

And now, where are Mandat's Squadrons that were to charge? Not a
Squadron of them stirs: or they stir in the wrong direction, out of the
way; their officers glad that they will even do that. It is to this
hour uncertain whether the Squadron on the Pont Neuf made the shadow
of resistance, or did not