But at the sight of the Bastille a still more exciting scene presented itself. There, federates from eighty-three districts of France, each with the banner of its department, had assembled, prepared to march forth and meet their brethren of Paris, who waited for them at the Champ de Mars. Deputations from troops of the line, and sailors from the royal navy, were ready with drums, trumpets, and banners, to escort them through the city, in all the pomp of a grand military display. Lafayette, mounted on a superb war steed and surrounded by a brilliant staff, took the lead, and the deputations defiled out from the Place de Bastille, amid the roar of cannon and the clash of military music which thrilled all Paris with expectation. From the ruined stronghold these guests of the nation poured into the streets and met a wild, riotous welcome as they passed. Black clouds gathered over them like the smoke of a hostile army, the rain came down in torrents, and the streets were ankle deep in mud; but all this was overborne by the unconquerable enthusiasm of a people who would read no evil omen in a lowering sky, and scarcely felt the torrents of rain that beat upon their heads as they crowded the pavement, the windows, and the house tops, to cheer their guests as they moved through the city. At the Place Louis Quinze, the Assembly joined the procession which swept on with this vast stream of riotous human life, and merged itself, as great rivers seek the ocean, in the crowds already assembled at the Camp de Mars. Here thousands on thousands greeted them with a roar of welcome to which the boom of the cannon was but a hoarse accompaniment. The king of France, with the queen, the dauphin, and such members of the court as still remained in Paris, entered the tent erected for them, and seated themselves under the purple canopy. They were greeted with a roar of artillery and wild shouts of welcome which must have, indeed, seemed a cruel mockery to a monarch who had been forced there to witness his own humiliation. It was pitiful to see that forced smile on the proud lip of the queen, more pitiful even than the grave, sad face of her royal husband, who looked around at this vast concourse of people, guided, as he keenly felt, by his enemies, with a thrill of unutterable anguish. There was no sympathy with the scene among the courtiers, who regarded with grave anxiety, or scarcely suppressed scorn, the insane joy of a people whom they had been taught to despise, and were beginning to fear. The scene filled them with mingled apprehension and contempt. Then three hundred priests in snow-white surplices and broad tri-colored sashes gathered close around the altar.