The other fifth was, however, thoroughly aroused. When the legislature convened on December nineteenth, and the diplomatic correspondence was so cleverly arranged and presented as to make the allies appear implacable, an address to the throne was passed, amid thunderous applause and by a large majority, which virtually called for a return to constitutional government as the price of additional war supplies. In sober moments even the most ardent liberals were ashamed, feeling that this was not an opportune moment for disorganizing such administration as there was by calls for the reform of the constitution. Only one question was imperative, the awful responsibility they had for the national identity. The general public was so outraged by the spectacle that the deputies reconsidered their action, and by a vote of two hundred and fifty-four to two hundred and twenty-three struck out the obnoxious clause. But this did not appease Napoleon, who made no attempt to conceal his rage, and prorogued the chamber in scorn. His support was ample in the almost universal conviction that at such a moment there was no time for parleying about abstract questions of political rights; but every cavilling deputy had some friends at home, and in a crisis where the very existence of France was jeopardized there were agitations by the reactionary radicals. The royalists kept silent then, and for months later, contenting themselves with biting innuendos or witty double meanings; drinking, for instance, to "the Emperor's last victory," when the newspapers announced "the last victory of the Emperor."