‘I will send them to Brussels,’ said the Queen. ‘Monsieur Léonard will take them. I shall not need him to dress my hair while we are on the journey.’

‘Indeed not. You must not forget that you are the governess.’

The Queen smiled. Already her spirits were lifted. It was due to the thought of escape from the dreary Tuileries; it was due to the joy of planning with Fersen.

‘I have arranged with Bouillé and the Duc de Choiseul that troops shall be posted along the route, so that once we are out of Paris the greatest of the danger will be past.’

‘That is wonderful,’ cried Antoinette. ‘And you … Comte?’

‘I shall be disguised as your coachman. I shall drive you to the frontier.’

Louis looked at them sombrely, and he thought: They love each other.

There was the man he might have been; and had he been that man, handsome, distinguished, a man of action, Antoinette might have loved him as she loved Fersen.

He did not blame Antoinette; he did not blame Fersen.

But he was in danger of losing his kingdom and his wife, and suddenly he felt an unusual emotion; mingled with it was anger against the Swede. Why should the man arrange their lives; why should he take charge of this adventure? Why should Antoinette look at him with those adoring eyes?

No. He must accept Fersen’s help but, once they were out of Paris, the escape should be his own achievement. He was the King; and he would be in command.

‘Monsieur le Comte,’ he said, ‘I think you might accompany us to Bondy. There another shall take over the berline and you shall ride on by a different route to the frontier.’

Fersen was bewildered. ‘But, Sire,’ he said, ‘I have been over the route. I have made all the arrangements … I … I have planned this … ’

Louis’ face was quite expressionless. ‘I would wish you to leave us at Bondy.’

Fersen looked at the Queen. She said; ‘The King is right. The risk … if we were discovered … would be too much for you to take. The mob would tear you to pieces if they discovered who you were and all you had done for us.’

‘But I must beg of you to listen to me,’ said Fersen.

Louis was a King in that moment, who did not give reasons for his decisions.

‘I wish it,’ he said.

Fersen bowed.


* * *

The plans were ready. The 6th of June was fixed for the day of escape, and all details were completed. Fersen had arranged everything. The King and Queen were to leave the Tuileries separately; they were to cross the square to where he would have an old-fashioned fiacre waiting for them. When they were all assembled, he would drive them out of Paris to where the berline would be waiting for them; in that he would drive them to Bondy, where he would leave them. They must make with all speed to Châlons-sur-Marne, for once they were through that town they would find the soldiers waiting for them, half an hour’s drive ahead at Pont de Somme-Vesle; and so they would make their way to Montmédy, which was but ten miles from the frontier. Fersen would be impatiently waiting at Montmédy; and once they had reached that town they would be safe.

The most difficult part of the operation was slipping out of Paris. They talked of it continually, rehearsing what they would do.


* * *

It was inconceivable, of course, that the Queen should leave her jewels behind. She visualised her arrival in a foreign Court. She must be adequately dressed. She must not let her friends think that she came as a beggar.

Fersen had realised this, and the berline itself was the most magnificent of its kind ever built. There had never been such a large carriage; this was necessary, Fersen declared, as it had to carry so many.

Fersen had put all his love into the building of the berline. Continually he thought of the comfort of the Queen. He had built into it a cupboard for food, and this was to be packed with chicken, wine and various delicacies for the journey; there was a clothes-press, for the Queen had always been fastidious about her clothes; there was even a commode – everything for the comfort of the travellers.

Fersen, who had planned every detail to perfection, failed to realise that the building of such a magnificent vehicle could not be kept entirely secret; and although his story was that it was for a Russian baroness, rumours soon started from the coachmaker’s workshop.

Provence and Josèphe were to leave the Tuileries at the same time, but Provence was arranging his own escape and proposed to travel to Montmédy by a different route; there they would meet.

Provence had different ideas from those of Fersen, and decided that he and Josèphe would travel in a shabby carriage without attendants.


* * *

The Queen was packing her jewels, in her apartment, preparing them for Monsieur Léonard to take into Brussels, when she became aware of Madame Rochereuil standing in the doorway, watching her.

Antoinette swung round, and with difficulty prevented herself from crying out.

‘Yes, Madame Rochereuil?’ she said coldly.

‘I wondered if I might help you, Madame, with the packing.’

The woman’s eyes were on the jewels spread out on the sofa.

The Queen said: ‘There is nothing you can do.’

Madame Rochereuil left her, but the Queen was anxious. She called Madame Elisabeth to her.

‘That woman is spying on us,’ she said. ‘That woman knows we plan to go.’

‘Could we not rid ourselves of her?’ asked Elisabeth.

‘That would be to call suspicion on us. I have discovered that Gouvion, a member of the Jacobin Club and a rabid revolutionary, is her lover. She watches all we do, and reports it to her Jacobin friends. Elisabeth, she knows!’

‘She cannot know when. No one knows when …’

‘But she will be spying on us. How can we ever leave as we planned? You know how careful we shall have to be … And she will be watching us all the time.’

And so it seemed, for at odd moments Madame Rochereuil would be near them, smiling quietly, alert, watchful, knowing herself to be recognised as a spy, the spy of whom they dare not rid themselves.

‘We cannot leave on the 6th,’ said Antoinette to Fersen. ‘The wretched woman, Rochereuil, knows we intend to go. She saw me packing my jewels. I told her that they were a present to my sister, but I could see she did not believe me.’

‘We must wait awhile,’ said Fersen uneasily.

It became clear that they were wise to do so, for shortly afterwards an article by Marat appeared in the Ami du Peuple. ‘There is a plot,’ he wrote, ‘to carry off the King. Are you imbeciles that you take no step to stop the flight of the royal family? Parisians, you stupid people, I am weary of telling you that you should have the King and Dauphin under lock and key; you should lock up the Austrian woman and the rest of the family. If they escaped it might mean the death of three million Frenchmen.’

Marat was afraid that, if the King escaped from Paris, he would gather forces together and there would be civil war throughout France.

‘We cannot go yet,’ it was decided in those secret meetings in the Tuileries. ‘We must wait until suspicions are lulled.’

Fersen fretted; so did Bouillé and the Duc de Choiseul. Everything had been arranged to the smallest detail. But Marat had aroused the suspicions of the people and Madame Rochereuil was watchful.

So during the days of that June it was necessary to infuse a listless air into the Tuileries. Never for one instant must they forget the watching eyes of Madame Rochereuil.

‘We must leave on the 19th,’ said Fersen desperately. ‘We dare not delay longer.’

So the escape was fixed for the 19th.

But on the evening of the 18th Madame de Tourzel came to the Queen and said: ‘Madame Rochereuil will not be in atendance on the 20th. She has asked leave to go and visit someone who is sick. I believe this to be true, because I heard from another source that Gouvion is unwell.’

‘This is a heaven-sent opportunity,’ cried the Queen. ‘We will leave on the 20th. Not on the 19th.’

It was late to make alterations, but she was sure that it would be folly to attempt to leave the Palace under the spy’s watchful eyes, when they could do so the next day in her absence. She called Monsieur Léonard to her and sent him off with the jewels. He would meet the cavalry on the road; and he was to tell their leader that the royal party would be twenty-four hours late.

Léonard left.

The 20th dawned. This was the day of escape.


* * *

The day seemed endless. Antoinette was certain that never before had she lived through such a long day. In the late morning, to the great relief of the Queen, Madame Rochereuil went. She was sure now that if they had been suspected of trying to escape earlier in the month, they were no longer; for if this had been so surely Madame Rochereuil would never have been allowed to leave her post.

Louis was as calm as ever. Louis was fortunate, as he never showed emotion.

Often during that long day Elisabeth and the Queen exchanged anxious glances, each aware of the other’s thoughts. Will the time never pass?

They stood at the windows, looking out. The sun was shining. That was fortunate; it was one of those lovely summer days which would draw the people out of the streets away to the open country.

Antoinette saw that Elisabeth’s lips were moving silently in prayer.

There was Mass to attend, and after that the family had their midday meal together. Antoinette was amazed that Louis could eat with his usual appetite. She had to force herself to appear normal, so did Elisabeth, and even Provence was more silent than usual. Antoinette was glad she had been able to keep their plans from the children.

She said to the King: ‘You are going to your apartment to rest? I shall go to mine, I think. I wish to work on my tapestry.’

She had not been in her room more than five minutes when a servant announced the arrival of Fersen. She received him in her apartment with only Elisabeth present.

‘The woman is not here?’ he asked.

‘No. She is having a short holiday.’

‘I wish she had taken it yesterday.’

‘Do not worry. You worry too much,’ said the Queen tenderly.

‘I am thinking of the soldiers waiting at their posts.’

‘But Monsieur Léonard can be trusted. He will reach them at the appointed time and tell them that we shall be twenty-four hours late.’

‘I would that I were driving you all the way.’

The Queen did not meet his eyes. ‘It is the King’s command,’ she said.

‘Is everything ready now?’ asked Fersen. He looked anxiously at the gilded clock on the wall. ‘Does it seem to you that time stands still?’

Antoinette nodded.

‘When I leave the Palace,’ he went on, ‘I shall take a look at the berline, to make sure everything is ready. I shall have the wine and food packed into it, and then it will be sent to wait for us beyond the Barrier. We shall then change vehicles, and away. You will not forget your parts.’

‘No,’ said the Queen. ‘I am the governess to my children, employed by Baroness de Korff – my dear Tourzel – the King is the lackey, and Elisabeth the companion; then dear Madame Neuville and Madame Brunier are servants, are they not? And that completes our little party.’

‘Is it necessary to take them? There seem so many of us,’ said Elisabeth.

‘I must have my maids,’ said the Queen. ‘I shall need them to help me with my toilet.’

‘They are trustworthy,’ said Fersen; ‘and they may leave an hour before you do, and can join the party later on. No one will stand in the way of their going. The difficulty will be to get you two ladies, the King and the children away without suspicion.’

‘I know,’ agreed the Queen.

‘Take care.’

He put out his hands, and Elisabeth did not look at them as for a moment they clung together.

Then Fersen was taking his leave.


* * *

When he had gone the Queen and Elisabeth took Madame Royale and the Dauphin for a drive in the Tivoli pleasure garden; when they returned the children went to bed and the King and Queen took supper with Elisabeth, Provence and Josèphe. After the meal they retired to the great drawing-room and, huddling together far from the doors, discussed the last-minute plans.