Maria Theresa had risen from the throne, upon which she had seated herself on her first entrance to calm her feelings; and she gazed, with evident emotion, and with faltering purpose, upon the vast crowd before her. No doubt that she saw a stern discouraging frown upon many a brow: no doubt that she knew how deeply the seeds of discontent and disaffection had been sown among her subjects--how great a majority was unfavourable to her cause: and she trembled and faltered for a moment. But the beauty, the dignity, and grace of the young Queen had already worked their spell upon the susceptible natures of the Hungarians, who, stern as they may be, are easily led away by enthusiastic impulses. A flattering murmur of applause ran through the assembly. Encouraged by this movement of sympathy, which her quickly sensitive woman's heart felt rather than perceived, Maria Theresa lifted her head more boldly, and advancing one step forward, with her little daughter clinging to her dress, held forward in her arms the baby boy, whose destinies afterwards fixed him on the imperial throne of Germany as Joseph the Second. All set speeches, all forms were forgotten by her in the trouble of the moment. "Hungarians!" she said, with quivering voice, in Latin,--"deserted by my friends, persecuted by my enemies, attacked and oppressed by my nearest relations, my only refuge, in my utmost need, is in your fidelity, courage, and support. To you alone, with God, can I any longer look for safety. To your loyalty alone can I confide the welfare of the son and daughter of your kings. At your feet I lay my children. I come to you for succour. Will you grant it me?" Her voice trembled. She could not proceed. A pause ensued. "_Vitam et sanguinem!_" responded a voice. It was that of Otmar, who had listened, with beating heart, to the accents of his adored Queen; whilst the blood had gradually risen into his pale cheeks, and now flushed his animated countenance with colour. "_Vitam et sanguinem!_" was shouted by almost every voice in the assembly, as it caught up the cry. "MORIAMUR PRO REGE NOSTRO!" again cried Otmar, drawing forth his sabre. "MORIAMUR PRO REGE NOSTRO!" was re-echoed by a thousand mouths, as a thousand sabres were waved on high, and flashed upon the air. The enthusiastic feeling had been communicated as an electric shock throughout the crowd. Spite of party feelings, party purpose, stern resolves, it had proved irresistible. Before the Hungarian nobles was a woman--a beautiful female in distress--and she their Queen! The burst of loyal fervour was spontaneous, uncontrollable. The bosom of Maria Theresa heaved with emotion at the sound of this wild cry. For a moment she struggled with her feelings, strove to be a queen: but her woman's nature gave way; and, sinking back on her throne, she burst into tears.