When Gabrielle strove to persuade her benefactress that she saw things _en noir_ the latter gave her haughty head a toss. "Conflict with the inevitable is not always an absurd mockery, for self-respect, when we are innocent, insists on battle to the death." As she spoke a low rumble, increasing each second in volume which seemed an echo of what she described as having dismayed the Assembly a few hours since, caused the ladies to look at each other in alarm. What was that ominous sound? Almost before they had time to realize that it meant anguish and woe treading on each other's heels--it had increased to a deafening roar. "They have burst into the gardens. Where are the little ones?" cried Gabrielle, thinking of her own cherubs, happily far away. "I will fetch them. Their Royal Highnesses are in the next room, reading." She sped away, and returning with the royal children presently, beheld her mistress leaning against the casement frame, stone white. "Hist!" she said, her voice scarce audible above the noise. "The wretches have invaded the palace--do they intend to fire it? Amid yonder sea of pikes and staves there is a cannon which they are dragging up the stairs. What for--for me? Into what a pandemonium were we born!" The uproar was like the lashing of an angry sea. The frightened women could hear the grinding and creaking of the heavy gun as with volleys of cries and curses it was lifted to the grand landing. "Unbar the door or we will blow it down," some one shouted, in rough accents--then followed a thunderous battering of pikes, the crushing and rending of panels and then--silence. "They will kill him. They will kill him! Why am I not by his side?" murmured Marie Antoinette, writhing her hands together. "I am here--what would you?" a steady voice said, cheerfully, rising above the hubbub not far away. "Vive la nation!" roared the rabble. "Yes. Vive la nation. I am its best friend," replied the king. Then there was a diversion. The trembling listeners were startled by a new roar of groans and hooting. "There she is--the curse of France. The Austrian! The Austrian! Down with her!" "My God!" muttered the queen. "It must be Elizabeth whom they mistake for me! My place is with them. Is a child of Maria Theresa to play the cur? Why am I skulking here?" "Madame! They will tear you in pieces!" implored Gabrielle, clinging to her skirts.