THE FLIGHT OF EUGENIE. 295 at length made its appearance. But it was not a mob such as had threatened Marie Antoinette; it was not bloodthirsty ; it was not violent ; the spirit of destruction latent in it was not aroused. It advanced slowly, over- flowing from the streets and squares where it had been gathering all the morning, into the beautiful gardens of the Tuileries, and dividing into two parts, streamed down upon the palace itself. Eugenie, standing behind a curtain in the drawing-room, viewed its approach through an opera-glass, and remarked with sorrow and surprise that it was apparently led by M. Yictorien Sardou, the great dramatist. This gentleman had indeed placed him- self at its head, but only that he might control it, and it was largely owing to him that the building was not sacked when it finally fell into the hands of the populace. " At twenty minutes past two," says the writer of the article in Temple Bar to which I have referred, " Signor Nigra, the Italian ambassador, passed through the white drawing-room with a rather jolly air on his face, as though nothing were happening. ' What news ? ' asked somebody. ' Mais rien' he answered cheerfully, and strode off, erect and long-legged, into the Empress's rooms. He had come to tell the Empress that it was time to fly. Her fortitude forsook her at this during a few seconds, and she could not articulate, but she made a sign that she wished to show herself to those who had stood by her faithfully to the last. The door of the white drawing- room was thrown open, and the Empress appeared for a moment on the threshold — an inexpressibly touching little figure in her simple black dress and white collar. She made a curtesy and waved her hand, trying hard to smile, while many — not all of them women — were sobbing aloud. Then, with gentle persuasion, Prince Richard Metternich, the Austrian ambassador, drew her back and the door was closed again."
