But the civil war which was raging within the theatre had given rise 'to battles outside as well; the same cries which had resounded within, pealed along the path of the queen. She could only advance slowly; closer and closer thronged the crowd, louder and louder roared around Marie Antoinette the various battle-cries of the parties, "Long live the queen!" "Long live the National Assembly!
Down with the queen!"
Marie Antoinette appeared to hear neither the one nor the other of these cries. With proudly erected head, and calm, grave looks, she walked forward, untroubled about the crowd, which the National Guard before her could only break through by a recourse to threats and violence, in order to make a passage for the queen.
At last the difficult task was done; at last she had reached her carriage, and could rest upon its cushions, and, unobserved by spying looks, could give way to her grief and her tears. But alas! this consolation continued only for a short time. The carriage soon stopped; the Tuileries, that sad, silent prison of the royal family, was soon reached, and Marie Antoinette quickly dried her tears, and compelled herself to appear calm.
"Do not weep more, Bugois," she whispered. "We will not give our enemies the triumph of seeing that they have forced tears from us.
Try to be cheerful, and tell no one of the insults of this evening."
The carriage door was opened, the queen dismounted, and, surrounded by National Guards and officers, returned to her apartments.
No one bade her welcome, no one received her as becomes a queen. A few of the servants only stood in the outer room, but Marie Antoinette had no looks for them. She had been compelled as a constitutional queen ought, to dismiss her own tried and faithful servants; her household had been reorganized, and she knew very well that these new menials were her enemies, and served as spies for the National Assembly. The queen therefore passed them without greeting, and entered her sitting-room.
But even here she was not alone; the door of the ante-room was open, and there sat the officer of the National Guard, whose duty of the day it was to watch her.
Marie Antoinette had no longer the right of being alone with her grief, no longer the right of being alone with her husband. The little corridor which ran from the apartments of the queen to those of the king, was always closed and guarded. When the king came to visit his wife, the guard came too and remained, hearing every word and standing at the door till the king retired. In like manner, both entrances to the apartments of the queen were always watched; for before the one sat an officer appointed by the National Assembly, and before the other a member of the National Guard stood as sentry.
With a deep sigh the queen entered her sleeping-room. The officer sat before the open door of the adjacent room, and looked sternly and coldly in. For an instant an expression of anger flitted over the face of the queen, and her lips quivered as though she wanted to speak a hasty word. But she suppressed it, and withdrew behind the great screen, in order to be disrobed by her two waiting-maids and be arrayed in her night-dress.
Then she dismissed the maids, and coming out from behind the screen, she said, loudly enough to be heard by the officer: "I am weary, I will sleep."
At once he arose, and turning to the two guards, who stood at the door of the anteroom, said:
"The queen is retiring, and the watch in the black corridor can withdraw. The National Assembly has given command to lighten the service of the National Guard, by withdrawing as much of the force as possible. As long as the queen is lying in bed, two eyes are enough to watch her, and they shall watch her well!"
The soldiers left the anteroom, and the officer returned to the entrance of the sleeping-room. He did not, however, sit down in the easy-chair before the door, but walked directly into the chamber of the queen.
Marie Antoinette trembled and reached out her hand for the bell which stood by her on the table.
"Be still, for God's sake, be still!" whispered the officer. "Make no noise, your majesty. Look at my face." And, kneeling before the queen, he raised his head and looked at her with an expression almost of supplication. "I am Toulan," he whispered, "the faithful servant of my queen. Will your majesty have the goodness to recall me? Here is a letter from my patroness, Madame de Campan, who speaks well for me. Will your majesty read it?"
The queen ran over the paper quickly and turned with a gentle smile to the officer, who was still kneeling before her, and who, in all her humiliation and misfortune, still paid her the homage due to majesty.
"Stand up, sir," she said, mildly. "The throne lies in dust, and my crown is so sadly broken, that it is no longer worth the trouble to kneel before it."
"Madame, I see two crowns upon your noble head," whispered Toulan--
"the crown of the queen, and the crown of misfortune. To these two crowns I dedicate my service and my fidelity, and for them I am prepared to die. It is true, I can do but little for your majesty, but that little shall be faithfully done. Thanks to my bitter hatred of royalty, and my rampant Jacobinism, I have carried matters so far, that I have been put upon the list of officers to keep watch, and, therefore, once every week I shall keep guard before your majesty's sleeping-room."
"And will you do me the favor to so put your chair that I shall not see you--that during the night I may not always have the feeling of being watched?" asked the queen, in supplicant tones.
"No, your majesty," said Toulan, moved. "I will remain in my chair, but your majesty will prefer, perhaps, to turn the night into day, and remain up; as during my nights you will not be disturbed."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Marie Antoinette, joyfully.