Yet the swans have not forgotten her; they sail unquietly hither and thither along the shore of the pond, they toss up their slender necks, and then plunge their red beaks down into the dark water seeking for the grateful bits which were not there. But when they saw that they were disappointed, they poured forth their peculiarly mournful song and slowly sailed away down the lakelet into the obscurity of the distance, letting their complaining notes be heard from time to time.
"They are singing the swan's song of my happiness," whispered the queen, looking with tearful eyes at the beautiful creatures. "They too turn away from me, and now I am alone, all alone."
She had spoken this loudly, and her quivering voice wakened the echo which had been artistically contrived there, to repeat cheery words and merry laughter.
"Alone!" sounded back from the walls of the Marlborough Tower at the end of the fish-pond. "Alone!" whispered the water stirred with the swans. "Alone!" was the rustling cry of the bushes. "Alone!" was heard in the heart of the queen, and she sank down upon the grass, covered her face with her hands, and wept aloud. All at once there was a cry in the distance, "The queen, where is the queen? "
Marie Antoinette sprang up and dried her eyes. No one should see that she had wept. Tears belong only to solitude, but she has no longer even solitude. The voice comes nearer and nearer, and Marie Antoinette follows the sound. She knows that she is going to meet a new misfortune. People have not come to Trianon to bring her tidings of joy; they have come to tell her that destruction awaits her in Versailles, and the queen is to give audience to it.
A man came with hurried step from the thicket down the winding footpath. Marie Antoinette looked at him with eager, sharp eye. Who is he, this herald of misfortune? No one of the court servants, no one of the gentry.
He wears the simple garments of a citizen, a man of the people, of that Third Estate which has prepared for the poor queen so much trouble and sorrow.
He had perhaps read her question in her face, for, as he now sank breathless at her feet, his lips murmured: "Forgive me, your majesty, forgive me that I disturb you. I am Toulan, your most devoted servant, and it is Madame de Campan who sends me."
"Toulan, yes, I recognize you now," said the queen, hastily. "It was you, was it not, who brought me the sad news of the acquittal of Rohan?"
"It appears, your majesty, that a cruel misfortune has always chosen me to be the bearer of evil tidings to my exalted queen. And to-day I come only with such."
"What is it?" cried the queen, eagerly. "Has any thing happened to my husband? Are my children threatened? Speak quickly, say no or yes. Let me know the whole truth at once. Is the king dead? Are my children in danger?"
"No, your majesty."
"No," cried the queen, breathing a breath of relief. "I thank you, air. You see that you accused Fate falsely, for you have brought me good tidings. And yet again I thank you, for, I remember, I have much to thank you for. It was you who raised your voice in the National Assembly, and voted for the inviolability of the queen. It was not your fault, and believe me not mine either, that your voice was alone, that no one joined you. The king has been declared inviolable, but not the queen, and now I am to be attacked, am I not? Tell me what is it? Why does my faithful Campan send you to me?"
"Your majesty, to conjure you to come to Versailles."
"What has happened there?"
"Nothing as yet, your majesty, but--I was early this morning in Paris, and what I saw there determined me to come hither at once, to bring the news and warn your majesty."
"What is it? Why do you hesitate? Speak out freely."
"Your majesty, all Paris is in motion, all Paris is marching upon Versailles!"
"What do you mean by that?" asked Marie Antoinette, passionately.
"What does Paris want? Does it mean to threaten the National Assembly? Explain yourself, for you see I do not understand you."
"Your majesty, the people of Paris hunger. The bakers have made no bread, for they assert that there is no more meal. The enemies of the realm have taken advantage of the excitement to stir up the masses and even the women. The people are hungry; the people are coming to Versailles to ask the king for bread. Ten thousand women are on the road to Versailles, accompanied by armed bodies of men."
"Let us hasten, sir, I must go to my children," said the queen, and with quick steps she went forward. Not a glance back, not a word of farewell to the loved plantation of Trianon, and yet it is the last time that Marie Antoinette is to look upon it. She will never return hither, she turns her back forever upon Trianon.
With flying steps she hurries on; Toulan does not venture to address her, and she has perhaps entirely forgotten his presence. She does not know that a faithful one is near her; she only knows that her children are in Versailles, and that she must go to them to protect them, and to the king too, to die with him, if it must be.
When they were not far from the great mall of the park at Versailles, the Count de St. Priest came running, and his frightened looks and pale face confirmed the news that Mr. Toulan had brought.
"Your majesty," cried the count, breathless, "I took the liberty of looking for your majesty at Trianon. Bad news has arrived."
"I know it," answered the queen, calmly. "Ten thousand women are marching upon Versailles, Mr. Toulan has informed me, and you see I am coming to receive the women."
All at once she stood still and turned to Toulan, who was walking behind her like the faithful servant of his mistress.
