'For my part,' muttered Berthier, 'I don't care how many of those Parisian blackguards are despatched. They richly deserve breaking on the wheel, and, to my thinking, a sabre-cut, a bayonet-thrust, or a bullet, is too merciful treatment.' 'You are not their father, M. Berthier,' said the king. 'Sire,' began De Breteuil, in his loud, inflexible voice, 'it is not a question of blood or no blood, but a question of the blood of the rabble or of the court and the ministry. If the measure we suggest, namely, the reduction of the rebellion by fire and steel, be rejected, then nothing remains for us but to tender our resignations, and to provide for our own safety, as best we can. That the brutal mob which has massacred your majesty's servants, Governor De Launay and Provost Flesselles, will hunt us down and butcher us, I have no manner of doubt; your majesty, by condoning those murders, assures to the rabble impunity if they assail us.' 'No, no, De Breteuil, you are wrong there.' 'Pardon me, sire,' he answered stiffly. 'What am I to do?' exclaimed the unfortunate king; 'I wish one of my brothers had been born before me.' The door half opened, and the queen appeared. She beckoned to the king, and he followed her, closing the door behind him. 'Supposing we fail,' said Vaudreuil; 'I believe that our only chance of safety is to fly the country.' 'If his majesty reject our proposal,' said Artois, 'I fly to-morrow. I have no desire to have my head carried about on the end of a pike.' 'What shall you do?' asked Berthier of his father-in-law. 'I!' answered Foulon, taking snuff; 'I shall die.' 'I shall be off,' said Berthier, roughly; 'I'm not likely to run the risk of being murdered like Flesselles, without the satisfaction of knowing that my death will be avenged.' 'I suppose if we retire, Necker will return,' said De Broglie. 'Well, let his majesty try peace; it has failed once, and it will fail again.' 'Are you aware, marshal,' said Foulon, 'that Mirabeau has been crying out for your head?' 'Let him come and try to take it,' answered De Broglie; 'he will find me his match, old as I am.' The king returned, his brow wet with perspiration, and his whole countenance wrung with distress. 'Gentlemen,' he spoke; 'I will do what I can. I will do anything you desire of me--except give orders for the attack upon Paris. Happily, no blood has flowed yet by my orders. I swear that none _shall_ flow by my command. My reflections are made; I am ready to follow your advice and that of her majesty in every particular except that which is against my conscience. I have tried to stifle its voice, I have tried to see the force of your arguments, but ever the horror starts up before me of the possibility, nay, I fear the probability of carnage, and of bearing to my grave a brand worse than that of Cain; he was his brother's murderer, how much worse for a father to give up his children to slaughter! I cannot--indeed I cannot--consent.'