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the Queen and her future husband. He had hated her because he had so loved his first wife that he would have resented anyone who attempted to take her place. If it had not been for her sister-in-law, Anne-Henriette, she would never have understood. She would always love Anne-Henriette for explaining to her; she would always love the King for being kind to her.
    She wished that there need not be this rift between the King and the Dauphin; she would always serve the interests of the Dauphin, but she was very fond of the King, and he of her. Although he knew of those gatherings in their apartments which she attended, he bore no resentment towards her. He understood her need and wish to follow the Dauphin in all things, and she knew that, fond of her as he was, Louis thought her a little dull because she had neither the wit nor charm of women such as the Marquise de Pompadour.
    The fact that she and her husband were voted dull by all the brilliant people of the King’s Court accentuated the kindness of the King towards her, for he always listened to what the Dauphine said, as though she were being as amusing and witty as the Pompadour.
    ‘How fortunate you are,’ the King had said to her, ‘to possess such a faithful husband.’
    Fortunate indeed. There were few faithful husbands at the Court of France, and it was a secret dread of hers that one day the Dauphin would conform to fashion and take a mistress.
    There should not be such fears on such a day. But all was not as it should be. How silent were the people! They did not shout as the King’s carriage went by. They stood staring in sullen groups.
    She noticed how thin some of them were, how ragged their clothes. It was said that there was great poverty in Paris and that this was due to the high taxes. The price of bread was continually rising and there were many stories of riots outside the bread shops.
    They had left the church and were making their way back to Versailles when, approaching the Pont de la Tournelle, she noticed that the crowds were greater. The coach, carrying the King and Queen, drove on in a silence which could only be called hostile. The Dauphine involuntarily moved closer to her husband.
    There was a murmur among the people, and the Dauphine, glancing out of the window, saw that the crowd was mainly composed of women who were trying to come nearer to the coach; and it was all the guards could do to restrain them.
    Then one of the women disengaged herself from the crowd and threw herself at the carriage; she clung to it, her face pressed close against the window.
    ‘Bread!’ she cried. ‘Give us bread. We are starving.’
    The guards would have removed her, but the Dauphin restrained them.
    ‘Throw them money,’ he commanded.
    ‘Money!’ The crowd took up the cry. ‘We do not want a few louis, Monseigneur. We want bread.’
    ‘Bread!’ chanted the crowd. ‘Bread!’
    The Dauphin put his head out of the window and said: ‘I understand your sufferings. I do my best to serve you.’
    There was a silence. The people had heard of the piety of the Dauphin. He did not live extravagantly; he did not fritter away money, wrung from the people by taxes, on building fine châteaux . It was said that he gave a great part of his income to the poor.
    One woman shrieked: ‘We love you, Monseigneur. But you must send away the Pompadour, who governs the King and ruins the Kingdom. If we had her in our hands today there would be nothing left of her to serve as relics.’
    The Dauphin said: ‘Good people, I do what I can for you.’ He then commanded the Captain of the guard to scatter money among the crowd, and the carriage passed on.
    The Dauphine was white and trembling. She had difficulty in restraining an impulse to throw herself weeping into her husband’s arms.
    The Dauphin however was sitting erect against the satin upholstery thinking: that woman spoke for the people of Paris. She said, ‘We love you. Send away the Pompadour.’
    This was proof