"You are right, let us go into my sitting-room," said the queen.
"The candles must be lighted there already. Come, Campan, since I am
indebted to you for this early message, you shall be the first to
learn it. Come, Campan, go with me!"

With a quick step the queen returned to her apartments, and entered
her sitting-room, followed by Madame de Campan, whose countenance
was filled with sad forebodings. The queen was right; the candles
had already been lighted in her apartments, and diffused a light
like that of day throughout her large sitting-room. In the little
porcelain cabinet, however, there was a milder light, as Marie
Antoinette liked to have it when she was alone and sans ceremonial.
The candles on the main chandelier were not lighted, and on the
table of Sevres china and rosewood which stood before the divan were
two silver candlesticks, each with two wax candles. These four were
the only lights in the apartment.

"Now, Campan," said the queen, sinking into the armchair which stood
before the table, near the divan, "now give me the paper. But no,
you would better read it to me--but exactly as it stands. You
promise me that?"

"Your majesty has commanded, and I must obey," said Campan, bowing.

"Read, read," urged Marie Antoinette. "Let me know the sentence."

Madame de Campan unfolded the paper, and went nearer to the light in
order to see better. Marie Antoinette leaned forward, folded both
hands in her lap, and looked at Campan with an expression of eager
expectation.