For a week these rejoicings were continued in Paris. The Field of Mars was converted into an immense ball-room, where thousands listened to enchanting music, and with the overflowings of fraternal love engaged in feasting, dancing, and all manner of games. At night the city blazed with illuminations, and the flame of fireworks turned darkness into day. The trees of the Elysian Fields were festooned with brilliant lamps, shedding a mild light upon the most attractive of scenes. There was no intoxication, no tumult, no confusion. All classes intermingled, with kind words on every lip and kind looks beaming from every face. No carriages were permitted to enter these avenues, that the rich and the poor might share the festivities alike. Pyramids of fire were placed at intervals in the midst of the mass of foliage. The white dresses of the ladies who were sauntering through those umbrageous alleys, the music, the dances, the games, the shouts of laughter, led almost every one to the delusive hope that the old world of care and sorrow had vanished to give place to a new era of universal love and joy.[256] The site of the Bastille was converted into an open square, and at the entrance of the inclosure was an inscription "_Ici l'on danse_" (Dancing here). For centuries the groans of the captive had resounded through the vaults of that odious prison. The groans had now ceased, and happy hearts throbbed with the excitement of the song and the dance. La Fayette gave a splendid review of the National Guard. The king, the queen, and the dauphin attended the review, and were warmly greeted by the people. The queen assumed the attitude of reconciliation, and graciously presented her hand to the delegates to kiss. The delegates from the departments, before they left Paris, went in a body to present their homage to the king. With one voice they expressed to him their respect, gratitude, and affection. The chief of the Bretons dropped on his knee and presented to the monarch his sword. "Sire," said he, "I deliver to you, pure and sacred, the sword of the faithful Bretons. It shall never be stained but with the blood of your enemies." [Illustration: LOUIS XVI. AND THE DEPUTATION OF THE BRETONS.] The heart of the kind-hearted king was touched. He returned the sword, and, throwing his arms around the neck of the chief of the Bretons, said, in tones broken with emotion, "That sword can not be in better hands than those of my dear Bretons. I have never doubted their fidelity and affection. Assure them that I am the father, the brother, the friend of all the French." For a moment there was silence, and all alike were moved by the affecting scene. The chief of the Bretons then rejoined, "Sire, all the French, if I may judge from our hearts, love and will love you because you are a citizen-king."