The hot blood of outraged royalty rose, and burned over the king’s face. “They will not dare ask this thing of me. It is impossible!” “It is already decided. The clubs have united upon it. The demagogues of the Assembly snatch at the idea as a means of increasing their popularity with the people. Mirabeau assures us that he is compelled to go with the current, but hopes to guide and direct while he seems to yield. In less than two days a deputation will be here to demand your sanction to the hideous insult, and your presence while it is perpetrated.” “But I will not go.” The queen’s eyes flashed like diamonds. “Great heavens! if we only had a loyal army this moment on the frontier, these traitors might be taken at their sacrilegious work, and crushed like bees in a hive!” Louis, who had for a moment stood upright and kingly, settled down to his original attitude, the color left his face, and he answered despondingly, “That would be to spill the blood of Frenchmen. Anything but that! Anything rather than that!” “Where a people rise in revolt against a lawful government, there must be bloodshed, sire, or submission.” Louis took up Mirabeau’s letter, and began to read it. Marie Antoinette watched him eagerly, the proud blood burning over her face, and a look of defiance in her eyes. She dreaded the persuasion, the eloquent reasoning which divested this gathering of the people of half its repulsive features. The king read slowly, and with thoughtful deliberation. In her passion the queen had hurled all the odious features of this popular design before him at once; but Mirabeau softened them almost into an intended concession and compliment to the court. It might be made, he urged, a means of great popularity throughout the country, while opposition would be sure to deepen the general discontent. The extremists, he urged, were already terrified lest the appearance of the royal family at a festival dedicated to liberty, should undo the slanders so industriously circulated against it. They only hoped that, by a refusal to preside at the people’s festival, Louis would embitter the populace more thoroughly against him. Mirabeau wrote eloquently and in good faith. Every word made its impression on the king. Marie Antoinette saw it, and tears of bitter humiliation rushed to her eyes. “You take his advice, sire?” she said, almost with a cry of despair. Louis looked at her a moment, and laid down the paper. It was not in his character to decide so promptly as that. “It requires thought.” “Requires thought for the King of France to resent an insult?” Louis shook his head, and a low moan broke from his lips. “Alas! this trouble is great, and I am but one man!” he said, with pathetic gentleness. “After all, the power of a king lies in the love and faith of his people.”