She sat back, determined not to show the others how alarmed she was becoming.


* * *

In the town of Sainte-Ménehould the rumours were wild. Something was afoot. All day the town had been filled with dragoons, who stood about as though waiting for some important event. They had swaggered into the inns; they had drunk very freely and they had gambled with the local inhabitants. Something was about to happen in Sainte-Ménehould, and it was to be kept a secret from the inhabitants. This was not right. But what could they do about it? They could guess! The soldiers, when plied with liquor, found it difficult to keep silent. Some important persons were coming this way and they were to escort them on their journey. Oh, depend upon it, it was a very important party.

‘Mayhap it is the Prince de Condé or someone of that rank?’ said the innkeeper.

‘Mayhap. Mayhap.’

The soldiers strutted about the streets. Their commander, the Comte de Damas, was alarmed. He saw that many of them were ready to be very friendly with certain young men who ostentatiously displayed the blue, white and red cockade.

Léonard arrived in the town with a confused message. The little hairdresser was distressed. His business was to create new styles for ladies’ hair, not to ride about the countryside delivering verbal messages which he did not understand.

What was the exact message he had received from Monsieur de Choiseul? He could not quite remember. But he knew that Monsieur de Choiseul had thought it better to move from Pont de Somme-Vesle because the inhabitants of that place were suspicious of him.

Damas considered. He decided to send most of his troop to a spot five miles distant, where they could camp for the night. He himself would remain at Sainte-Ménehould, greet the King on his arrival, and tell him that he had had to divide his soldiers because of the growing rumours.

So when the berline arrived at Sainte-Ménehould it was to find again no escort waiting for them.

But Damas was there and it was good to see him. He was able to explain the position. His dragoons were not far off, and after passing Les Islettes the berline would take the quiet road to Varennes, and not far distant from that town they would meet Bouillé and his army.

It had been arranged that fresh horses would be waiting for them at the little villages where there would not be posting houses, and this would be ideal, for there would be no inquisitive people to wonder who they were.

There had been some delay and some misunderstanding, but, Damas assured the King and Queen, they were almost on the road to safety.

Among those who watched the handsome berline while the horses were being changed and who saw the respectful way in which the officer of the dragoons addressed the occupants of the coach, was the postmaster’s son, Jean Baptiste Drouet.

He was a young man of strong revolutionary feelings, and he knew that the occupants of that carriage were émigrés; more than that they were persons of high standing, for who but the very rich would escape in such comfort?

He watched the berline take off and, as he did so, Guillaume, one of his friends, came up to him and said: ‘Do you know who that was, Jean Baptiste?’

‘It’s some of those cursed aristocrats,’ said Jean Baptiste. ‘Why should we let them pass? It is our duty to detain them.’

‘Someone rode in from Châlons. He says it is the King and Queen.’

Drouet brought his hand down sharply on his thigh. ‘The King and Queen! And we let them pass!’

He leaped onto the wall of his father’s house and shouted: ‘Citizens! Do you know what has just happened? The King and Queen have passed this way. They are escaping to the frontier.’

A crowd gathered. They smiled. ‘Oh, ’tis Jean Baptiste again. He’s a firebrand, he is. He ought to go to Paris and tell them how to run the revolution.’

‘Citizens!’ cried Jeane Baptiste, ‘what will you do? Will you wait here and bring the venom of France upon your shoulders?’

‘What can we do?’ asked one old wine-grower. ‘Run after the fine carriage?’

‘My God,’ cried Jean Baptiste, ‘somebody must. Come, Guillaume. They are on their way to Varennes. I heard it said. We’ll get there ahead of them and we’ll raise the town against them. They must not pass beyond Varennes. Now we know why there are soldiers hereabouts. They’ll be advancing on us … destroying the vines … destroying our homes. Come, Citizens!’

The people of Sainte-Ménehould shrugged their shoulders. Guillaume was reluctant. ‘Don’t make a fool of yourself,’ said the wife of Jean Baptiste.

But Jean Baptiste was a son of the Revolution. He demanded that Guillaume go with him; and how could Guillaume refuse a command from such a good son of the Revolution?

They saddled their horses.

‘They’ve had a good start of us,’ said Jean Baptiste, ‘but we know the short cuts to Varennes.’


* * *

So the berline came into Varennes. Worn out with the day’s adventures the King was dozing; the Queen had her eyes closed but she was not sleeping; she was too anxious to be able to sleep. Not until I reach Montmédy shall I be able to feel at rest, she told herself. Then Axel will be there. If Axel had stayed with us, surely all these mishaps would not have overtaken us.

It was ten o’clock; darkness had fallen and clouds obscured the moon.

The berline was now passing under a church which had been built above the street forming an archway; thus the way was very narrow; and as it slowed up to pass beneath this arch there was a cry of ‘Halt!’ and the berline came to an abrupt stop.

A man with a gun was at each window.

‘Your passports?’ said Jean Baptiste Drouet.

Madame de Tourzel produced the forged passport. ‘I am travelling to Russia with my children and my servants,’ she explained.

Jean Baptiste examined the passports; he was trembling with excitement. This was the greatest moment in the life of a country revolutionary. If the flight of the King and Queen were arrested, he, Jean Baptiste Drouet, would have the honour of bringing about this great event.

Had he not ridden with Guillaume into Varennes! And he had had to force Guillaume to accompany him, so Guillaume should not take more than his share of the triumph! Had he not forced the citizens of Varennes to sound the tocsins and waken the townsfolk! Had he not forced the revolutionary young men of Varennes to rise and prepare to help him in this matter! He was a good member of the Jacobin Club; and this was his hour.

‘I fear,’ he said, looking at that woman who was called Madame Rochet but whom he knew to be another, ‘that you cannot pass.’

‘My passport is in order,’ protested Madame de Tourzel.

‘I must take it,’ said Jean Baptiste; ‘it must be examined by the solicitor of this town. And you must accompany me to his house. Drive on,’ he commanded the driver. ‘You will be led to the house of Monsieur Sausse.’

The Queen looked out of the window and caught her breath with horror; she saw that the berline was surrounded by young men, and that many of them were wearing the badge of the revolution.

Monsieur Sausse, mayor, solicitor and shopkeeper of Varennes, was a man who did not like to make trouble. His sympathy was with the royalists, but if necessary he was prepared to keep that to himself.

He knew of the turmoil in the town; he resented the intrusion of this young firebrand from Sainte-Ménehould. He examined the passport. ‘This passport is in order,’ he said.

‘Then let us go,’ said the Queen. ‘We are in a great hurry.’

They turned and made their way out to the berline.

But Drouet had taken Monsieur Sausse by the arm and shaken him.

‘Are you mad? I tell you this is the King. Will you let him escape? You will be a traitor to France. You know what they do with traitors.’

Monsieur Sausse knew. He had seen what happened to them here in Varennes; he had heard even more terrible tales from Paris.

Meanwhile the bells were ringing and the people of Varennes were running into the streets.

Monsieur Sausse was not a brave man.

He followed the travellers out to the berline.

‘I am afraid,’ he said, ‘that you cannot be allowed to leave Varennes to-night. You would not, I am sure, wish to travel by night. Allow me to offer you the hospitality of my house.’

The King looked at the Queen. There was resignation in the King’s expression. There was desperation in that of the Queen. Both knew that they had no alternative but to obey.

So into the humble home of Monsieur and Madame Sausse went the King and Queen with their children, Madame Elisabeth and the two ladies-in-waiting.

And while Madame Sausse, overcome by the grand manners of her guests, hurriedly set about cooking and borrowing beds for them all, the news went through the town: ‘The King and Queen are in Varennes.’

And in the square, Drouet gathered his revolutionaries. They came with their farm implements – their pitchforks and scythes.

And Drouet spoke to them, shouted at them, reminding them of their duty to the revolution.


* * *

The King was the only one who was able to make a good meal, but the children, worn out by their exhausting day, were soon fast asleep.

Now that the Sausses could no longer be in doubt of the identity of their guests, they treated them with the utmost respect; and it was clear to the émigrés that if their hosts could have their way they would help them to escape.

But what could they do? The shouting filled the streets. Drouet had organised bands, armed with scythes and pitchforks, to guard the house and see that the prisoners did not escape.

While the King was eating, there was a commotion from without and two officers, de Damas and Goguelat fought their way through the crowds about the house and demanded to be taken to the King.

De Damas explained that he had planned to fight a way out of the town, but when he had explained his project to his men, many of them had deserted declaring themselves to be for the Nation. Goguelat had had the same experience.

Antoinette was in despair; she wondered how Louis could remain so stolid. Did he not care that all their plans had gone for nothing? She did not believe that he felt this as deeply as she did. He had fought for a long time against the plan to escape. He hated to run away from ‘his children’, as he insisted on calling these people who were determined to bring him low.

Oh, Louis, she thought. Had you been different we should not now be in this sorry plight.

Fresh hope came with the arrival of de Choiseul. De Choiseul, with some of his loyal men, fought his way through the crowds, wounding some of them as he did so.

De Choiseul had a plan.

‘I suggest, Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘that we fight our way out of this town. Warning has now gone to Bouillé and it cannot be long before he joins us. If we can fight our way out of Varennes we can take the road to Montmédy, and on the way we shall be sure to meet Bouillé and his army.’

‘If we went,’ said the King, ‘there would be fighting.’

‘Sire, my soldiers are ready to fight.’

‘My soldiers fight against my people!’

‘They will learn that there are still men in France ready to fight for the King.’

‘I cannot have bloodshed,’ said Louis, shaking his head. ‘What if the Queen were hurt? What if the Dauphin were killed? I should never forgive myself.’

De Choiseul bowed his head. He thought the King foolish in the extreme, because it was clear that he was throwing away one of his last chances of achieving freedom. But de Choiseul was a soldier accustomed to take orders, and the King’s orders were that they stay.

Louis brightened. ‘Before morning,’ he said, ‘Bouillé must be here. The sight of such a force will make all these people go quietly into their houses.’

‘That is so, Sire,’ said de Choiseul. ‘All should yet be well if Bouillé and the army arrive in time.’

Antoinette listened; she felt drained of all strength. Her heart was beating an uneasy tattoo.

Bouillé must arrive in time. He must!


* * *

It was half past six. The terrible night was over, and still Bouillé had not come. Into the town of Varennes two horsemen came riding; they leaped from their sweating horses and, surrounded by the men and women who had thronged the streets all that night, demanded to know whether a magnificently equipped berline had passed through the town.