ON THE BACK TRACK.
Billet's countenance was dark; thoughtfulness lowered the brows over
eyes deeply investigating; he reviewed all the prisoners and over the
circle he made two remarks.
Charny's flight was patent; the window was being closed by the Colonel
after him; by bending forward Billet could see the count vaulting over
the garden wall. It followed that the agreement made between Captain
Romeuf and the Queen was for him to stand neutral.
Behind Billet the outer room was filled as before with the
scythe-bearers, musketeers and swordsmen whom his gesture had dismissed.
These men seemed to obey this chief to whom they were attracted by
magnetic influence, because they divined in one a plebeian like
themselves patriotism or hatred equal to their own.
His glance behind himself meeting theirs told him that he might rely on
them, even in case he had to proceed to violence.
"Well, have they decided to go?" he asked Romeuf.
The Queen threw on him one of those side looks which would have blasted
him if they had the power of lightning, which they resemble. Without
replying, she clutched the arm of her chair as though to clamp herself
to it.
"The King begs a little more time as they have not slept in the night
and their Majesties are dying of fatigue?" said Romeuf.
"Captain," returned Billet bluntly, "you know very well that it is not
because their Majesties are fatigued that they sue for time, but because
they hope in a few instants that Lord Bouille will arrive. But it will
be well for their Majesties not to dally," added Billet with emphasis,
"for if they refuse to come out willingly, they will be lugged by the
heels."
"Scoundrel!" cried Damas, darting at the speaker with his sword up.
Billet turned to face him, but with folded arms. He had in truth no
need to defend himself, for eight or ten men sprang into the room, and
the colonel was threatened by ten different weapons. The King saw that
the least word or move would lead to all his supporters being shot or
chopped to rags, and he said,
"It is well: let the horses be put to. We are going."
One of the Queen's women who travelled in a cab with her companion after
the royal coach, screamed and swooned; this awakened the boy prince and
his sister, who wept.
"Fie, sir, you cannot have a child that you are so cruel to a mother,"
said the Queen to the farmer.
"No, madam," replied he, repressing a start, and with a bitter smile, "I
have no child now. There is to be no delay about the horses," he went
on, to the King, "the horses are harnessed, and the carriage at the
door."
Approaching the window the King saw that all was ready; in the immense
din he had not heard the horses brought up. Seeing him through the
window the mob burst into a shout which was a threat. He turned pale.
"What does your Majesty order?" inquired Choiseul of the Queen: "we had
rather die than witness this outrage."
"Do you believe Lord Charny has got away?" she asked quickly in an
undertone.
"I can answer for that."
"Then let us go; but in heaven's name, for your own sake as well as
ours, do not quit us."
The King understood her fear.
"I do not see any horses for Lord Choiseul and Damas," observed he.
"They can follow as they like," said Billet; "my orders are to bring the
King and the Queen, and do not speak of them."
"But I declare that I will not go without them having their horses,"
broke forth the monarch with more firmness than was expected from him.
"What do you say to that?" cried Billet to his men swarming into the
room. "Here is the King not going because these gentlemen have no
horses!"
The mob roared with laughter.
"I will find them," said Romeuf.
"Do not quit their Majesties," interposed Choiseul: "your office gives
you some power over the people, and it depends on your honor that not a
hair of their head should fall."
Romeuf stopped, while Billet snapped his fingers.
"I will attend to this," said he, leading the way; but stopping on the
threshold he said, frowning: "But you will fetch them along, eh, lads?"
"Oh, never fear," replied the men, with a peal of laughter evidencing
that no pity was to be expected in case of resistance.
At such a point of irritation, they would certainly have used roughness
and shot down any one resisting. Billet had no need to come upstairs
again. One of them by the window watched what happened in the street.
"The horses are ready," he said: "out you get!"
"Out, and be off!" said his companions with a tone admitting no
discussion.
The King took the lead. Romeuf was supposed to look particularly after
the family, but the fact is he had need to take care of himself. The
rumor had spread that he was not only carrying out the Assembly's orders
with mildness but by his inertia, if not actively, favored the flight of
one of the most devoted upholders of the Royals, who had only quitted
them in order to hurry up Marquis Bouille to their rescue.
The result was that on the sill, while Billet's conduct was glorified
by the gathering, Romeuf heard himself qualified as a traitor and an
aristocrat.
The party stepped into the carriage and the cab, with the two Lifeguards
on the box.
Valory had asked as a favor that the King would let him and his comrade
be considered as domestics since they were no longer allowed to act as
his soldiers.
"As things stand," he pleaded, "princes of the blood royal might be
glad to be here; the more honor for simple gentlemen like us."
"Have it so," said the sovereign tearfully, "you shall not quit me
ever."
Thus they took in reality the place of couriers. Choiseul closed the
door.
"Gentlemen," said the King, "I positively give the order that you shall
drive me to Montmedy. Postillions, to Montmedy!"
But one voice, that of the united populations of more than this town,
replied:
"To Paris!"
In the lull, Billet pointed with his sword and said:
"Postboys, take the Clermont Road."
The vehicle whirled round to obey this order.
"I take you all for witness that I am overpowered by violence," said
Louis XVI.
Exhausted by the effort he had made, the unfortunate King, who had never
shown so much will before, fell back on the rear seat, between the Queen
and his sister.
In five minutes, after going a couple of hundred paces, a great clamor
was heard behind. As they were placed, the Queen was the passenger who
could first get her head out of the window.
She drew in almost instantly, covering her eyes with both hands, and
muttering:
"Oh, woe to us! they are murdering Choiseul."
The King tried to rise, but the two ladies pulled him down; anyhow the
carriage turned the road and they could not see what passed at twenty
paces that way.
Choiseul and Damas had mounted their horses at Sausse's door but
Romeuf's had been taken away from the post-house. He and two cavalrymen
followed on foot, hoping to find a horse or two, either of the hussars
and dragoons who had been led off by the people, or abandoned by their
masters. But they had not gone fifteen steps before Choiseul perceived
that the three were in danger of being smothered, pressed down and
scattered in the multitude. He stopped, letting the carriage go on, and
judging that Romeuf was of the most value to the Royal Family in this
strait, called to his servant, James Brisack, who was mixed up with the
press.
"Give my spare horse to Captain Romeuf."
Scarce had he spoken the words than the exasperated crowd enveloped him,
yelling:
"This is the Count of Choiseul, one who wanted to take away the King!
Down with the aristocrat--death to the traitor!"
All know with what rapidity the effect follows the threat in popular
commotions.
Torn from his saddle, Count Choiseul was hurled back and was swallowed
up in that horrible gulf of the multitude, from which in that epoch of
deadly passions one emerged only in fragments.
But at the same time as he fell five persons rushed to his rescue. These
were Damas, Romeuf, Brisack and two others, the last having lost the led
horse so that his hands were free for his master's service.
Such a conflict arose as the Indians wage around the body of a fallen
warrior whom they do not wish scalped.
Contrary to all probability, Choiseul was not hurt, or at least
slightly, despite the ugly weapons used against him. A soldier parried
with his musket a scythe thrust aimed at him, and Brisack warded off
another with a stick he had snatched from a hand in the medley. This
stick was cleft like a reed, but the cut was so turned as to wound only
the count's horse.
"This way the dragoons!" it came into Adjutant Foucq's head to halloa.
Some soldiers rushed up at the call and cleared a space in their shame
at the officer being murdered among them. Romeuf sprang into the open
space.
"In the name of the National Assembly, and of General Lafayette, whose
deputy I am, lead these gentleman to the town-hall!" he vociferated.
Both names of the Assembly and the general enjoyed full popularity at
this period and exerted their usual effect.
"To the town-hall," roared the concourse.
Willing hands made a united effort and Choiseul and his companions
were dragged towards the council rooms. It took well over an hour to
get there; each minute had its threat and attempt to murder, and every
opening the protectors left was used to thrust with a pike or pitchfork
or sabre.
However, the municipal building was reached at last, where only one
towns officer remained, frightened extremely at the responsibility
devolving on him. To relieve him of this charge, he ordered that
Choiseul, Damas and Floirac should be put in the cells and watched by
the National Guards.
Romeuf thereupon declared that he would not quit Choiseul, who had
shielded him and so brought on himself what happened. So the town
official ordered that he should be put in the cell along with him.
Choiseul made a sign for his groom Brisack to get away and see to the
horses. Not much pulled about, they were in an inn, guarded by the
volunteers.
Romeuf stayed till the Verdun National Guard came in, when he entrusted
the prisoners to them, and went his way with the officers' pledge that
they would keep them well.
Isidore Charny's remains were dragged into a weaver's house, where pious
but alien hands prepared them for the grave--less fortunate he than
his brother Valence, who, at least, was mourned over by his brother
and Billet, and Gilbert. But at that time, Billet was a devoted and
respectful friend. We know how these feelings changed into hate: as
implacable as the better sentiments had been deep.