LET US RETURN to the house of M. Sausse.
Charny had scarcely touched the step, when the door of the room opened, and Billot entered.
His face was dark; his eyes, the brows of which were corrugated by thought, were anxious and deep. He passed in review all the characters of the drama, but he could make hut two observations:
Charny had flown—that was evident. The count was not there, and Damas was closing the window. Billot looked out and fancied he saw Charny leap over the garden wall.
The agreement concluded between the queen and De Romoeuf, to which the latter had pledged himself, was that he would remain neuter.
The room behind Billot was filled with many people, armed with guns, scythes, or sabres, whom one gesture of the farmer had driven out.
These men, by some magnetic influence, seemed impelled to obey the plebeian chief, in whom they saw a patriotism equal to their own—or rather, a hatred not less intense.
Billot looked around him; as his eye met those of the armed men, he saw he could rely on them, even if things came to extremities.
“Well!” said he to De Romoeuf, “are they decided to go?”
The queen cast on Billot one of those oblique glances which would have pulverised those to whom she addressed them, had she, as she wished, been able to infuse into them the power of lightning.
Without a reply she sat down, taking hold of the arms of her chair, as if she wished to keep herself steady.
“The king requests a delay of a few moments,” said De Romoeuf; “no one has slept during the whole night.”
“M. de Romoeuf,” said Billot, “you know well enough that their majesties are fatigued—that they ask for delay—because they expect M. de Bouille to arrive. Let, however, their majesties beware, for if they do not come willingly, they will be dragged by force.”
“Villain!” said Damas, rushing towards Billot with his drawn sword.
Billot folded his arms. The fact was, there was no necessity for his defending himself. Eight or ten men rushed from the first to the second room, and Damas at once had ten different weapons at his breast.
The king saw that one word alone was necessary to ensure the death of De Choiseul, Damas, the guardsmen, and the two or three officers and sub-officers with him.
“Very well!” said he, “put horses to the carriage, and we will go.”
Madame Brennier, one of the queen's ladies, shrieked and fainted. The dauphin began to cry.
“Monsieur!” said the queen to Billot, “you have no children, or you would not be so cruel to a mother.”
Billot trembled, and, with a bitter smile, said:
“There is no need for your order; the horses are already harnessed.”
“The carriage is at the door.”
The king went to the window and saw that Billot told the truth. The uproar in the street had drowned the sound of the wheels.
The people saw the king. A loud cry, or rather menace, arose. The king grew pale.
De Choiseul approached the queen.
“What does his majesty order? Myself and my companions had rather die than witness what passes here.”
“Do you think M. de Charny is safe?” asked the queen in a low but anxious voice.
“Yes: I am sure of that,” said M. de Choiseul.
“Then let us go, for heaven's sake!—though, both on your account and on ours, do not leave us.”
The king understood the queen's fears. “M. de Choiseul and M. de Damas accompany us, but I do not see their horses.”
“True,” said De Romoeuf, “we cannot keep those gentlemen from following the king and queen.”
“These gentlemen can accompany the king and queen if they can.. Our orders relate to the king and queen, but have no relation to them.”
“I will not go until these gentlemen have their horses,” said the king, with more firmness than might have been expected from him. “What say you to that?” said Billot, turning to his men. “The king will not go until these gentlemen have their horses.” The men laughed.
“I will send for them,” said De Romoeuf. Choiseul stepped in front of him, and said: “M. de Romoeuf, do not leave their majesties, Your mission gives you some power over the people, and it will reflect credit on you if not a hair of the heads of their majesties be injured.”
De Romoeuf paused. Billot shrugged his shoulders. “Very well, I am going,” said he.
He advanced first. When at the door he turned. “You will follow me, will you not?”
“Be easy,” said the men, with a burst of laughter which indicated that in case of resistance no pity was to be expected from them.
They were so irritated, that they certainly would have employed force against the royal family, had any attempt to escape been made.
Billot did not have the trouble to come upstairs again. One of the men stood at the window, and watched what was going on in the street.
“All is ready,” said he, “come!” “Come!” said his companions, with an accent which admitted of no discussion.
The king went first. Then came De Choiseul with the queen. Then came Damas, who gave his arm to Madame Elizabeth. Madame de Tourzel came next with the children, and after them the rest of the faithful group.
Romoeuf, as the envoy of the National Assembly, was particularly charged with the care of the royal cortege.
It must, however, be said, that De Romoeuf himself needed looking after. It had been said that he had executed with great gentleness the orders of the Assembly, and that he had covertly, if not openly, favoured the escape of one of the king's most faithful servants, who had left, it was said, only to summon Bouille to their aid.
The result was that when at the door, while the conduct of Billot was glorified by all the people, who seemed to recognise him as their chief, Romoeuf heard around him on all sides the words “aristocrat” and “traitor.”
They got into the carriage in the same order in which they descended the stairway. The guardsmen resumed their places on the seat.
Just as they came down M. de Valory approached the king.
“Sire,” said he, “my comrade and myself have come to ask a favour of your majesty.”
“What is it?” said the king, amazed that he had yet any favour to dispose of.
“Sire, the favour, since we have no longer the honour of serving you as soldiers, is that we may be near you as servants.”
“Servants, gentlemen! the thing is impossible!” said the king.
M. de Valory bowed. “Sire,” said he, “in the situation in which your majesty is, it is our opinion that such a duty would do honour to a prince of the blood; for so much better reason does it do honour to poor gentlemen like ourselves.”
“Well, gentlemen,” said the king, with tears in his eyes, “remain with us and never leave us.”
Thus these two young men, making a reality of their livery, and their factitious duties as couriers, resumed their places on the seats.
“Gentlemen,” said the king, “I wish to go to Montmedy. Postilions, take me thither.”
A cry, not from a single voice, but from the whole population was heard. It shouted:
After a moment's silence, Billot, with his sabre, pointed out the road he wished them to follow, and shouted:
“I call you to witness that violence is used against me,” said the king.
The unfortunate king, exhausted by this exertion, which exceeded any one he had yet made, sank back in the carriage between the queen and Madame Elizabeth, and the coach rolled on.
