The guards had discharged their last cartridge, and this they had not done uselessly, for through this increasing opening could be seen the floor of the gallery covered with the wounded and dead bodies.
On hearing the shrieks of the women, who believed that through this opening death was advancing upon them, the king returned.
“Sire,” said De Charny, “shut yourself up with the queen in the farthest room from this; close every door after you; place two of us behind the doors. I demand to be the last, and to guard the last door. I will answer for it that we hold out two hours; they have been more than forty minutes in breaking through this one.”
The king hesitated; it appeared to him to be humiliating to fly thus from room to room, to intrench himself thus behind every partition.
If the queen had not been there, he would not have retreated a single step.
If the queen had not her children with her, she would have remained as firmly as the king.
But alas! poor human beings, kings or subjects, we have always in our hearts some secret opening by which courage escapes and terror enters.
The king was about to give the order to fly to the remotest room, when suddenly the arms were withdrawn, the pikes and bayonets disappeared, the shouts and threats at once ceased.
A general silence ensued, every one remaining with distended lips, eagerly listening ears, and suppressed respiration.
They then heard the measured steps of regular troops advancing.
“They are the National Guards!” cried De Charny.
“Monsieur de Charny!” cried a voice, and at the same time the well-known face of Billot appeared at the opening.
“Billot!” cried De Charny, “is it you, my friend?”
“Yes, yes, ’tis I,” replied the honest farmer; “and the king and queen, where are they?”
“They are here.”
“Safe and sound?”
“Safe and sound.”
“May God be praised! This way, Monsieur Gilbert, this way!” cried he, in his stentorian voice.
At the name of Gilbert, the hearts of two women bounded with very different feelings.
The heart of the queen and the heart of Andrée.
De Charny turned round instinctively. He saw both Andrée and the queen turn pale at this name.
He shook his head and sighed.
“Open the door, gentlemen,” said the king.
The guards hastened to obey his orders, throwing aside the remains of the barricade.
During this time the voice of Lafayette was heard crying:—
“Gentlemen of the National Guard of Paris, I last night pledged my word to the king that no injury should be done to any one belonging to his Majesty. If you allow his guards to be massacred, you will make me forfeit my word of honor, and I shall no longer be worthy to be your chief.”
When the door was opened, the two persons first perceived were General de Lafayette and Gilbert; while a little to their left Billot was standing, perfectly delighted at the share which he had taken in his Majesty’s deliverance.
It was Billot who had gone to awaken Lafayette.
Behind Lafayette, Gilbert, and Billot, was Captain Gondran, commanding the company of the centre St. Philippe de Roule.
Madame Adelaide was the first who rushed forward to greet Lafayette, and throwing her arms round his neck with all the gratitude of terror:—
“Ah, sir!” she exclaimed, “it is you who have saved us!”
Lafayette advanced respectfully, and was about crossing the threshold of the Œil de Bœuf, when an officer stopped his progress.
“Your pardon, sir,” said he to him; “but have you the right of admission?”
“If he has not,” said the king, holding out his hand to Lafayette, “I give it to him.”
“Long live the king! long live the queen!” cried Billot.
The king turned towards him.
“That is a voice I know,” said he, smiling.
“You are very kind, Sire,” replied the worthy farmer. “Yes, yes; you heard that voice on the journey to Paris. Ah, had you but remained in Paris instead of returning here!”
The queen knit her brows.
“Yes,” she said, “since you Parisians are so very amiable.”
“Well, sir?” said the king to Monsieur de Lafayette, as if he had been asking him the question, “In your opinion, what ought now to be done?”