It was not until nearly a full hour had passed, until a commotion farther up toward the palace, and the shouted presenting of arms announced the arrival of the king that these six hundred, now at the limit of their restrained and profound exasperation, were at last admitted to the ramshackle wooden corridor that was their only vestibule. They folded their umbrellas, shook the rain from their cloaks, and, hat under arm, filed through the inner way which led to the back of the hall. Thus did they meanly enter it, at last, humiliated and angry, they who would be the nation itself. The Commons filed in two by two through the side door at the end of the great hall. They saw before them, under the great veiled, oval skylight of the place, the ranks of the clergy and of the nobles already assembled, rows deep, upon each side of the central gangway. They saw the throne, with its noble purple hangings roof-high and spangled with the golden lilies, upon the raised platform at the farther end. They saw the whole place draped and painted and upholstered as it had been for the great ceremony of the Parliament’s opening seven weeks before. It was eleven o’clock. Upon the king’s right the queen, suffering somewhat from that theatrical dignity which had been the bane of her carriage at the court, and had so offended the French sense of measure, courtesied deep, and would not be seated while the king still stood. Before the throne the ministry sat in rank; but one chair was empty, and all men gazed at it. It was amazing that this chair should be empty, for it was the chair of the chief minister; it was Necker’s chair. What was about to be done was Necker’s doing. It was he who had written the words the king was to read. But that very morning he had grown afraid. He had ordered his carriage to take him with the rest; then, seeing how feeling had risen, persuaded partly by his women, partly by a native duplicity, that something was to be gained by a dramatic absence and a show of displeasure at what he knew would clash with opinion, he had at the last moment shirked and remained at home. He betrayed the king by that shirking. He left it to be thought that he was not the author of his own words. Unlike most traitors, he reaped no reward. Whether rumours of what was to come had leaked out or not we cannot tell. Some of that great audience afterward said that they knew what was toward, and certainly among the two privileged orders there were a few who had heard the tenor of the speech. There were even one or two among the Commons. But for the great bulk of those who waited curiously for the fruition of so dreadful a moment, the fruit of that moment was still unknown until the herald gave forth his cry, until the rustle of seating was over, and the king spoke. [Illustration: JACQUES NECKER, RECTOR-GENERAL OF FINANCES _To face p. 34_ ]