NOT WITHOUT reason had distrust of Madame Rochereul been exhibited. Though her service had ceased on the 11th, she had continued, somehow or other, to return to the capital, and she had discovered, though the jewel cases of the queen were in their places, that the diamonds were gone: they had, in fact, been given by the queen to her hairdresser, Leonard, who was to set out on the 20th, a few hours before his august mistress, with M. de Choiseul, commander of the first detachment of soldiers, posted at the bridge of Someville, who also had charge of the relays at Varennes, composed of six good horses, awaiting the final orders of the queen and king. It was, perhaps, indiscreet to trouble De Choiseul with Leonard, and imprudent to take a hairdresser with her. But who abroad could have dressed her hair as Leonard did? A hairdresser who is a man of genius is not easily given up.
The consequence was, that the chambermaid of the dauphin, not doubting but that the escape would be made on Monday, the 20th, at eleven o'clock, not only informed M. de Gouvion of the matter, but Bailly also.
Lafayette had gone to find the king, and to have a frank explanation of the matter with him, simply shrugging up his shoulders.
Bailly had done better. While Lafayette became blind as an astronomer, Bailly became courteous as a knight; he even sent the queen the letter of Madame Rochereul.
M. de Gouvion, who was much interested, was very suspicious. Having learned all from his mistress, under the pretext of a military reunion, he had assembled a dozen officers of the National Guard, placed five or six as videttes at each door, and himself with five majors, undertook the surveillance of the doors of M. de Villequier, which had been specially pointed out to him.
About the same hour, at No. 9, Rue Coq Heron, in a room we are all acquainted with, sat on a sofa a young and beautiful woman, apparently calm, but in fact deeply excited, who talked with a young man of twenty-three or four, clad in a courier's vest of chamois, pantaloons of leather, a pair of boots, and armed with a couteau de chasse.
The young woman insisted on something which the young man denied.
“But, vicomte, why, during the last two months, since he has come to Paris, has he not come himself?”
“My brother, madame, has often sent you messages.”
“I know he has, and am grateful to him for doing so. It seems to me, though, that now he might have come himself.”
“Madame, it was impossible, and therefore he sent me.”
“And will your journey be long?”
“I say so to you, count, because from your costume I think you are about to set out.”
“In all probability, madame, I shall have left Paris at midnight.”
“Do you go with your brother, or in an opposite direction?”
“I think, madame, that we go in an opposite direction.”
“Will you tell him that you have seen me?”
“Yes, madame, for from the anxiety he exhibited when he sent me to you, and his reiterated orders not to return until I had spoken to you, he would not pardon me for any act of omission.”
The young woman passed her hands over her eyes and said, after a moment's reflection:
“Vicomte, you are a gentleman, and will understand all I say to you. Tell me, will you answer me as if I were really your sister, and answer me as if you spoke to God? Does M. de Charny incur any serious danger in the journey he undertakes?”
“Who can, tell, madame?” said Isidor, seeking to elude the question, “where danger does and does not exist? On the morning of the 5th of October, our poor brother George, had he been questioned, would have been confident that he saw no danger. On the next day he lay pale and dead at the queen's door. Danger, madame, in the age we are in, springs from the earth, and we often stand face to face with death, without knowing why.”
“Then his life is in danger, count?”
“I think, madame, that if you have anything important to say to my brother, the enterprise we are engaged in is serious enough for you to transmit viva voce, by me, your thought or wish.”
“It is well, count; I ask but five minutes of you.” She entered the chamber and closed the door behind her.
The young man looked anxiously at his watch. “A quarter past nine,” said he. “The king awaits us at half-past. Happily it is but a step to the Tuileries.”
The countess did not, however, use as much time as she asked. After a few moments she entered with a sealed letter in her hand. “Vicomte, I confide this to your honour.”
Isidor reached forth his hand to take the letter.
“Wait a moment,” said Andree, “and understand what I say. If your brother meet with no accident in the journey he meditates, nothing need be said but what I have told you, that I sympathize with his loyalty, respect his devotion, and admire his character. If he be wounded,” Andree's voice changed noticeably, “ask him to permit me to join him, and if he grant me that favour, send me a message so that I may certainly know where to find him, for I will set out at once. If he be mortally wounded,” emotion almost stifled Andree's voice, “give him this letter; if he cannot read it, do so for him, for before he dies I wish him to know the contents of this letter. Give me your word, vicomte, that you will do what I ask you.”
Isidor, deeply moved as the countess was, gave her his hand. “On my honour, madame,” said he.
“Then take this letter, and go.”
Isidor took the letter, pressed the countess's hand, and left.
Just as Isidor read this letter and placed it in his bosom, two men, dressed precisely as he was, passed him at the corner of the Rue Coquilliere, and seemed to be going in the same direction—that is, towards the boudoir of the queen.
Both were introduced, and almost at the same time, by two different doors; the first introduced was M. de Valory.
A few seconds after, another door was opened, and M. de Valory saw another person enter. The two officers were unacquainted. Presuming, however, they were both called for the same purpose, they approached and bowed. Just then a third door opened, and Isidor de Charny appeared. He was the third courier, also unknown to the other two, but knowing who they were, and he alone knew why they were sent for.
He was preparing himself to answer any questions which might be put to him, when the door opened and the king appeared.
“Messieurs,” said Louis XVI., speaking to M. de Maiden and M. de Valory, “excuse my having used you without permission, but I thought, belonging to my guards, you were faithful subjects. I wished you to go to a tailor, the address of whom I gave you, and each get a courier's dress, and to be at the Tuileries to-night at half-past nine. Your presence satisfies me that whatever be the question at stake, you will undertake what I request of you.”
The two gardes de corps bowed.
“Sire, your majesty knows you may command your nobles without consulting them, and dispose of their courage, life and fortune.”
“Sire,” said De Maiden, “my colleague, in replying for himself, has replied or me, and I presume for this gentleman also.”
“The third gentleman, to whom I would introduce you, is the Vicomte de Charny, brother of him who was killed in the defence of Versailles at the queen's door. “We are used to the devotion of families, and the thing is now so common that we often forget even to give thanks for it.”
“From what the king says, I presume the Count de Charny is aware of the motive of our union. I am ignorant of it, and am anxious to learn it, sire.”
“Messieurs, you are not ignorant that I am a prisoner of the Commandant of the National Guard, of the Maire of Paris, and of the National Assembly. Well, sirs, I have relied on you to rescue me from this humiliation, and enable me to resume my liberty. My life, the lives of the queen and her children, are in your hands. All is ready for our flight—contrive only to extricate us from this place.”
“Sire,” said the three young men, “give your orders.”
“We cannot go out together, messieurs, as you see. Our common rendezvous is the corner of the Rue Saint Nicaise, where the Count de Charny awaits us with a carriage. You, vicomte, will take charge of the queen, and answer to the name of Melchior. You, M. de Maiden, will take charge of Madame Elizabeth and Madame Royule, and will be called Jean. You, M. de Valory, will take charge of Madame de Tourzel and the dauphin, and will be called Francois. Do not forget your new names, and await other instructions.”
The king gave his hand to each of the three young men, and left in the room three men ready to die for him.
M. de Choiseul had on the previous night told the king, from M. de Bouille, that it would be impossible to wait later than twenty minutes after twelve for him, and that he had resolved, on the 21st, if he had no news, to set out at 4 a.m., taking all the detachments with him to Dun, Stenay, and Montmedy. Choiseul was in his own house in the Rue d'Artois, where he awaited the final orders of the king, and as it was nine o'clock, he had begun to despair, when the only servant he had kept, who thought his master just about to set out for Metz, came to say that a messenger from the queen wished to speak to him. He bade him come up.
A man entered with a round hat pulled over his eyes, and wrapped in an immense pelisse.
“Is it you, Leonard? I awaited you anxiously.”
“If I made you wait, duke, it was not my fault, but the queen's, for she told me only ten minutes ago that I had to come to your house.”
“Yes, duke. She bade me take these diamonds and bring you this letter.”
“Now,” said the duke, “arouse yourself, and tell me what the queen said.”
“The queen said, in a low voice, 'Take these diamonds and hide them in your pockets. Take this letter to M. de Choiseul, in the Rue d'Artois, but give it to him alone. If not, you will find him at the house of the Duchesse de Grammont.' As I was leaving, the queen called me back. 'Put on a broad-brimmed hat and a large pelisse, that you may not be known, and obey M. de Choiseul as if he were myself.' I went to my room, prepared myself, and came.”
“Then,” said M. de Choiseul, “the queen bade you obey me as herself.”
“Those were the august words of her majesty.”
Just then a servant came in and said the carriage was ready, and the Duke de Choiseul made the hairdresser get into his cabriolet, and set out at post-haste for the barrier of Petite Villette.
