Andree grew pale.

  “Then his life is in danger, count?”

  “I did not say so, madame.”

  “But you think so?”

  “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.”

  “Did she say nothing more?”

  “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.

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  The Departure.

  AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK, at the very time when Mesdames de Tourzel and Brennier, after having undressed and put Madame Royale and the dauphin to bed, awoke and dressed them again, much to the mortification of the dauphin, who insisted on putting on boy’s clothes instead of petticoats, the king and queen and Madame Elizabeth received Lafayette and his aides-de-camp, Gouvion and Romoeuf. This visit was most annoying, especially when they took into consideration the suspicions they entertained of Madame Rochereul.

  The queen and Madame Elizabeth had, during the evening, gone into the Bois de Boulogne, and had returned at eight o’clock. Lafayette asked the queen if her promenade had been pleasant; but added that she was wrong to return so late, as the evening mists might hurt her.

  “Mists in June!” said the queen, with a smile; “but unless one be manufactured expressly to conceal our flight, I do not know where, at this season, I could find a mist. I presume there is a report that we are about to fly.”

  “The fact is, madame, the report is more current than ever; and I have even been told that it is to take place to-night.”

  “Ah! I bet that you received that intelligence from M. Gouvion,” said the queen.

  “Why from me, madame?” said the young officer, blushing.

  “Because you have acquaintances in the palace. M. de Romoeuf has none; and I am not sure he would he answerable for me.”

  “There would be no great merit in it, madame, as the king has given his word to the National Assembly not to leave Paris.”

  It was the queen’s turn to blush.

  The subject of the conversation changed.

  At half past eleven Lafayette and his two aides took leave of the king. Gouvion, yet unsatisfied, returned to his room in the chateau, where he found his friends on duty, and instead of relieving them, urged double diligence. Lafayette went to the Hotel de Ville to make M. Bailly easy, in case he should have felt any fear.

  Lafayette having gone, the king and queen rang for their servants, had the usual services rendered them, and then dismissed everybody.

  The queen and Madame Elizabeth dressed each other. Their dresses were as plain as possible; their hats w-ere very large, and concealed their faces.

  “When they were dressed, the king entered. He was clad in a grey coat, and one of those little bag-wigs called a la Rousseau. He wore short breeches, grey stockings, and shoes with buckles.

  Bight days before, Huet, the valet, had, in precisely such a dress, left the door of M. de Villequier, who had emigrated six months before, and had gained the square of the Corvuses, and the street of St. Nicaise. This precaution had been taken in order that people might be used to the dress, and that, if seen in the Tuileries, it might occasion no remark.

  The three courtiers were taken from the queen’s boudoir, where they had been waiting, and were taken through the saloon into the room of Madame Royale, who was there with the dauphin.

  Once in M. Villequier’s room it was easy to leave the palace. No one knew that the king had the keys, and there was no sentinel there. Besides, after eleven o’clock the sentinels in the courtyard were used to see many people pass.

  There all arrangements were made.

  The Vicomte de Charny, who had gone over the road with his brother, and knew the difficult and dangerous places, was to ride ahead and prepare the postilions, that there might be as little delay as possible.

  M. de Maiden and M. de Valory were on the seat, and were ordered to pay the postilion thirty sous: ordinarily twenty-five was the price, but in consideration of the heaviness of the carriage five were added.

  The Count de Charny would be in the coach ready to provide against all accidents. He would be well armed, and each of the couriers would find a pair of pistols in the carriage.

  By paying well, it was hoped to reach Chalons in thirteen hours.

  All this had been decided on between Charny and De Choiseul.

  De Maiden and De Valory would pay. Charny from the inside would talk, if there were anything to be said.

  All promised obedience. The lights were blown out, and they went to the room of M. Villequier.

  It struck twelve as they passed the room of Madame Royale. The Count de Charny must have been at his post an hour.

  The king put the key in the door.

  Steps and whisperings were heard in the corridor. Something strange was going on. Madame de Tourzel, who lived in the chateau, and who passed to and fro so frequently that her presence would cause no surprise, offered to see what was the matter.

  They waited motionless. Madame de Tourzel returned and reported that .-he had seen M. de Gouvion and several uniforms. It was impossible to leave this room unless it had some other outlet.

  They had no light. A lamp was in the room of Madame Royale, and Madame de Tourzel lighted the candle, which had been blown out. For a long time the search was thought useless, but at last a little stairway was found leading to a small room on the ground floor. The door was locked. The king tried all his keys, but in vain. Charny tried to open it with his hunting knife; but the bolt would not move. They had found an outlet, but were as closely confined as ever. The king took the lamp from Madame de Tourzel’s hands, and leaving all the rest in darkness, went back to his bedchamber and thence to the forge. He took a bundle of picklocks and came down. When he had reached the group he had already made his choice. The picklock the king had selected grated, and slipped twice from the wards. The third time, however, the bolt turned, and all breathed freely.

  Now the order of departure was to be regulated. Madame Elizabeth went first, with Madame Royale. Twenty paces after followed Madame de Tourzel with the dauphin. Between them was M. de Maiden, prepared, if necessary, to aid them. Trembling and timidly, these few grains detached from the royal chaplet, looking behind them for those they loved, descended and went into the circle of light formed by the lamp at the palace door. They passed the sentinel, who did not even seem to notice them.

  “Good!” said Madame Elizabeth, “we have already passed one difficulty.”

  When at the wicket on the Carousel, they saw the sentinel crossing their path. When he saw them approach, he paused. “Aunt,” said Madame Royale, “we are lost. That man sees us.”

  “It matters not; we will certainly be lost if we hesitate.” They continued to advance. When about four paces from them, the sentinel turned his back, and they passed on. Did this man know them? Did he know what fugitives he suffered to escape? The princesses thought so, and mentally gave a thousand thanks to their unknown preserver.

  On the other side of the wicket they saw the uneasy face of the Count de Charny. He was wrapped in a full blue cloak, and wore a hat of oiled cloth.

  “Ah!” said he, “here you are at last! And the king and queen?”

  “Are behind us.”

  “Come,” said Charny. He took them rapidly to a carriage which was waiting them in Rue Nicaise.

  A hack drove up by the side of the remire, as if to watch it.

  “Well, comrade,” said the hackman, as he saw Charny come up, “it seems you have a fare.”

  “Yes,” said Charny.

  He then said, in a low tone, to M. de Maiden, “Take this carriage, and go at once to Porte St. Martin. You will recognise the vehicle that waits you without trouble.” M. de Maiden understood, and got into the hack.

  The driver thought his customer was some courier going to meet his master at the opera, and set out at once, making no remark, except about the price. He said, “You know, sir, it is after midnight.”

  “Yes, be easy.”

  As, at that epoch, servants were sometimes more generous than their masters, the driver set out at a full trot, and without any observation but that about the price.

  Scarcely had he turned the corner of the Rue de Rohan, than by the same wicket which had given a passage to Madame Royale, to Madame Elizabeth, the dauphin, and Madame de Tourzel, there advanced at a slow pace, like a clerk who had just left his office after a long and laborious day’s work, a man in a great coat, with the corner of his hat over his eyes, and his hands in his pockets. It was the king, followed by M. de Valory.

  Charny advanced a few paces towards him. He had recognised the king, not by himself, but by his being accompanied by M. de Valory. He sighed with grief and almost with shame. “Come, sire,” murmured he.

  Then, in a low tone, he said to M. de Valory, “Where is the queen?”

  “The queen follows with the vicomte.”

  “Come: take the shortest road and await us at Porte St. Martin. I will take the longest; the rendezvous is the carriage.”

  We will not attempt to describe the anxiety of the fugitives. Charny, on whom the responsibility rested, was almost mad.

  The terror increased as they passed the carriage of General Lafayette all lighted up. It was entering the Carousel.

  At the door of the court, the Vicomte de Charny gave his arm to the queen, and wished to turn to the left. The queen made him stop.

  “Whither go you?” said she.

  “To the corner of Rue Nicaise, where my brother awaits us.”

  “Is the Nicaise on the river?” asked the queen.

  “No, madame.”

  “Then your brother awaits you at the wicket towards the water.” Isidor would have insisted, but the queen appeared so sure of what she said that doubts entered his mind. “My God, madame,” said he, “every mistake is fatal.”

  “By the river-side, I am sure I heard by the river-side.”

  “Let us go thither, then, madame, but if we find no carriage, we will go at once to Rue Nicaise.”

  The queen and Isidor crossed the openings one after the other, and also the three lines of sentinels. None thought of stopping them. What reason was there to believe that this young woman, dressed like a servant of a good house, and giving her arm to a young man in the livery of the Prince de Condi, was the Queen of France? They came to the river; the quay was deserted.

  “It is, then, on the other side,” said the queen. Isidor wished to retrace his steps. She seemed mad, though, and insisted on going to the other wicket. She dragged Isidor to the Port Royal. The bridge being crossed, the other side was found deserted as the first.

  “Let us look down the street.”

  She forced him to go down the Rue de Bac. After going a hundred yards, she saw her error, and all panting, said: “My strength begins to fail.”

  “Well, madame, do you still insist?”

  “No,” said the queen, “take me where you will.”

  “Madame, for heaven’s sake, have courage.”

  “Ah! I do not need courage, but strength.” Then, turning back, she said: “It seems to me I shall never regain my breath. My God! my God I”

  Isidor knew that breath was as much needed by the queen at this hour, as it is to a wolf pursued by hounds. He paused. “Get your breath, madame. We have time. I will answer for my brother; he will wait until morning.”

  She resumed walking, and retraced the previous unnecessary course she had taken.

  Instead of returning to the Tuileries, Isidor passed through the gate into the Carousel; the immense square was crossed; until midnight it was always covered with pedlars’ stalls and with hackney coaches. It was nearly deserted and dark. The sound of wheels and of horses’ feet, however, was heard. They had reached the gate at the head of the Rue des Echelles. It was evident that the horses, whose steps they heard, were about to pass in that direction. A light was seen, which doubtless was caused by the torches which accompanied the carriage. Isidor wished to pause; the queen hurried him on. Isidor rushed to the wicket to protect her, just as the torch-bearers appeared on the opposite side. He placed her in the darkest place, and stood before her. Even that, though, was for a moment inundated with the light of the torches. Amid them, in the rich uniform of General of the National Guard, was Lafayette.