There were two hundred and fifty-nine curés, delegates to the Assembly. They were followed by the bishops, thirty-eight bishops and eleven archbishops, delegates like the curés and elected by the clergy, but separated from their inferiors by a choir in scarlet and lace, bearing silver cross and tall lighted candles, chanting the 'Exsurgat Deus,' which had been chosen by the master of the ceremonies as an oblique hit at the refractory clergy. The bishops wore violet cassocks, lace rochets, and violet-hooded capes. Their gold crosses glittered on their breasts. As they walked proudly along, not a voice was raised in acclamation. Immediately after the bishops marched the Swiss guard with their band, and then the King in his superb royal robes of state, surrounded by his brothers the Count of Provence and the Count of Artois, and the ministers. As he left the church, the cannons on the Place d'Armes were discharged. This was the signal for universal applause. It was heard running from street to street, rising in a billow of sound from the market-place, rattling down the street to the great amphitheatre before the Palace, where it rolled from side to side, and was passed on down the Rue de Satory, whence it was wafted faintly, and where it expired. After the King and his group followed the Queen, with madame, the wife of the Count of Provence, the Countess of Artois, the princesses, and the ladies of the court, superbly dressed and covered with diamonds. The queen's hair was rolled into a mountain of curls about her temples, and bound round with a circlet of large diamonds and sapphires. Two long locks fell on either side of her beautiful throat and rested on her shoulders. The exquisite transparency of her complexion showed to advantage that day. The excitement had brought a little brilliant carnation to her cheeks. A chain of large pearls surrounded her neck and supported a pearl cross, which reposed on her bosom. Two crystal drops depended from her ears. Her brooch and stomacher blazed with precious stones. She passed along the street, between the lines of soldiers and the close-packed crowds, and not a voice was raised to salute her. She felt it, and a hard expression over-spread her countenance, she walked more erect, held her proud head up, and tossed it slightly, as the curls teased her. 'How beautiful the queen is!' was whispered. 'And she so wicked!' sighed Madame Deschwanden. 'No, mother,' answered Madeleine; 'she is not wicked, but foolish. She would not give one of those pearls to save a life; she would not deprive herself of a pleasure to lighten a heavy heart.' 'Well,' said madame; 'if you do not call that wicked, it is cousin to it.'