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The very scum of civilisation, the dregs of the population of France, were roused in fierce and unjust revolt against the royal family; yes, in revolt and in power, and on a day of early October, 1789, a howling mob of frenzied men, women and children swept up the peaceful avenues of Versailles, shrieking their fiendish cries for vengeance on the royal family, and then they invaded and took possession of the royal apartments. Aghast at the outrages committed in the name of the French people, the King and Queen tried in every way to restore the mob to peace, but in vain. The leaders of the rebellion demanded the immediate appearance in Paris, which was the seat of the revolution, of King Louis and his family, where they could be closely watched by their enemies, describing in alarming terms, the danger to his majesty if he did not comply with the request. Accordingly, after hours of indescribable horrors and humiliation and anguish, the king was obliged to give his consent to the plan, and the royal family made ready for their departure from Versailles. During their seven hours’ journey to Paris, they were followed by a rabble of such human fiends as had invaded the palace at Versailles, and although throughout the whole terrible trip, Marie Antoinette and the King bore themselves with sad and dignified composure, yet the strain on them both was almost too great to be borne. Through all the agony and excitement, the Dauphin frightened though he was, seeing his mother’s tears, tried to smile courageously into her face, and to keep back words of complaint, and the sight of his courage almost broke his mother’s heart. What would this all mean to him, the future king of France? Alas, poor little Dauphin!

At last they reached the Tuileries, the royal palace in Paris, where no French King had lived since Louis Fifteenth was a young man. There had been no preparations made for the coming of the royal family. The palace, so long uninhabited was in a state of dilapidation, and there were no comforts in it, and very few necessities. But the travellers were too much exhausted to heed anything but that they had reached a temporary shelter and were relieved that death, which the day before had seemed so imminent, had been, for the present, put aside.

Exhausted to the breaking point, Marie Antoinette slept soundly that night, and on the next morning as she sipped her chocolate in a room which had been hastily transformed into a sitting-room for her, she was thinking sadly of life and its changes when the door opened and the Dauphin ran in and flung himself into her arms.

“Oh, mamma,” he cried, “please let us go back to our beautiful palace at home. This big house frightens me with its shadows. Why have we come here, mamma, when we have such a lovely palace and garden of our own?”

The queen sighed.

“My son,” she said, “this palace belongs to us too, as well as Versailles, and it is considered a beautiful palace. It is where the great Louis Fourteenth lived, you know.”

“Well, I don’t like it at all and I wish we could go away,” whispered the Dauphin, casting a homesick look around the great bare room, furnished so meagrely with faded furniture.

“I wish so too.” The queen scarcely breathed the words, but the sensitive child’s ears caught them, and he answered eagerly.

“Then why do we have to stay? I thought a queen could always do what she wanted to do.”

In answer the poor, sore-hearted queen burst into tears, whereupon the Dauphin’s tutor tried to take the child from her, saying severely:

“My prince, you see you trouble the queen, and her majesty sorely needs a rest. Come with me for a walk.”

But Marie Antoinette shook her head and clung to the child whose hand was now gently stroking her cheek, and whose tears were mingled with her own.