violent red overspread all the arch above them, and so touched the roofs of Paris that it seemed as though a great fire had come at last with the wars and had caught all the city. Marie Antoinette called her sister-in-law, the Princess Elizabeth, to her side, and the two women watched this thing together. It was a little past four o’clock. The day broadened, and at last the sun rose blinding, and still the silence endured. The bells had long ceased, and the more careless of those within the Tuileries jested one with another, saying, “The tocsin did not yield this night; it has run dry.” Before the sun had strength, and while yet the Tuileries cast a broad shadow westward over the garden terrace and toward the garden trees, while the streets were still quite empty, the queen unwisely bethought her that something might be done at this last moment to lend strength and dignity to the resistance of the palace. She would summon the king and bring the garrison out before him, so moving their loyalty and his too slow determination. She went to find her husband. He had sunk into a torpor with the last hours of the night, and when she woke him from the place where he lay he started up dishevelled and confused. His clothes suffered through the wearing of so many hours; his very wig was disturbed and askew. His face was suffused. But he came down at her asking, and stood before the main western garden door, while what could be gathered of the six thousand were hurriedly summoned there into line to meet him and to be passed in review. Not all of them came,--not all of them by very many,--and the thing was so haphazard that unarmed pages slipped into the line and played the fool, with chance tongs and shovels to take the place of muskets when they saluted. The king, a figure not exciting loyalty on that breakfastless morning after that sleepless night, heavy in shoulder as in stomach, purple-coated, freckled and pale, walked up and down the motley line. It was an unhappy business, unworthy, undignified, the true product of an energetic woman’s misunderstanding of men. Just before the king turned to leave them, an old and devoted courtier went down on one rheumatic knee to offer his sword. There was a single laugh from somewhere. Louis turned and re-entered the palace. By this time the Friday sun had risen high. It was between six and seven o’clock, and still the city did not move.