‘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.
Every now and then they would glance at the clock and comment on the slow passage of time.
Privacy was never of long duration. The royal family must not excite suspicion by remaining too long in the private drawing-room. They made their way to the great salon where the members of the Court were gathered. Some talked; some were engaged in card games. The great test was beginning. There among those courtiers the impression must be given that this night was no different from countless others.
The King was calm, enough. He sat on his chair, looking sleepy, as he usually did during the evening. He was discussing the latest phase of the revolution in the way he discussed such things every night.
It was ten o’clock when the Queen rose and remarked that she wished to write a letter and would shortly return. With madly beating heart she slipped through the gloomy corridors to the children’s apartments. Madame de Tourzel was waiting for her.
‘You are ready?’ breathed the Queen.
‘Yes, Madame.’
Antoinette went to her daughter’s bed. Madame Royale opened her eyes and stared at her mother. ‘You are to get up quickly. Ask no questions. Dress at once. Madame de Tourzel will help you.’
Madame Royale obeyed instantly.
Antoinette went to the Dauphin’s bed.
‘Come, my darling,’ she said. ‘We are going on a journey.’
The Dauphin sprang up. ‘Now … Maman? Now? Where do we go? Are the soldiers coming with us?’
‘We shall go to a fortress where there are many soldiers. Come now. I will help you to dress. Be quiet, for it is late and there is not a moment to lose.’
‘These are girls’ clothes!’ cried the Dauphin in dismay. Then gleefully: ‘Is it a masked ball, Maman?’
‘I said, be quiet. It is important to be quiet.’
‘Are you coming?’ he whispered.
‘Yes … but later. Do as I say, or you will be brought back and there will be no journey. Do not say a word until you are told you may.’
The Dauphin nodded conspiratorially and allowed himself to be dressed in a girl’s gown and bonnet.
‘Now,’ said the Queen. She led the way swiftly through silent rooms, down a private staircase to that exit at which Fersen had made sure no sentry should be placed.
The Queen went ahead of her children and looked out. Almost immediately a cloaked figure appeared from the shadows. It was a coachman, and Antoinette recognised him by his gait. She could have wept with joy and gratitude. She might have known he would not fail.
No word was spoken. Fersen took the Dauphin’s hand; Madame de Tourzel was holding fast to Madame Royale. Fersen led the way to where the fiacre was waiting, and Antoinette returned to the salon.
At eleven the Queen intimated that she was tired and would retire for the night.
Her women undressed her, and never had they seemed so slow.
‘Pray,’ she said to one of them, ‘order the carriages for tomorrow morning. If the weather is as good as it has been today I should like to go for a drive.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
The Queen yawned.
‘Your Majesty is tired?’
‘It is the heat, and the conversation in the salon seemed even duller than usual.’ While they removed her headdress she watched them through half-closed eyes. She wanted to shriek at them: ‘Be quick. Every moment is important.’
At last they drew the curtains about her bed, and she heard the door close.
Immediately she was out of bed; she dressed herself in a simple grey silk dress and put on a black hat with a thick veil. Her fingers were clumsy, for she was unused to dressing herself. She wondered how Elisabeth was faring. But Elisabeth would be calmer than she was. No doubt Elisabeth was already joining the fiacre in the rue de l’Echelle.
She wondered about Louis. He too had to make ready for his escape. He would find it even more difficult. La Fayette would pay his nightly visit to the Tuileries and would spend some time with the King. A good deal depended on how soon the King could dismiss La Fayette without arousing his suspicions.
But she must think only of her own escape which would need all her care.
Fully dressed now in the hat with the heavy veil, she was unrecognizable. She drew the curtains about her bed again and slipped out through the private door, down the private staircase.
As she came to that door through which the children had left, she saw the tall figure of a guardsman. She caught her breath in a moment of fear, although she knew she was to meet such a man who would conduct her to the fiacre. What if they had misjudged their man? What if he, like Madame Rochereuil, was a traitor after all?
His voice was soft as he whispered: ‘All is well, Madame. Follow me.’
Her heart leaped. She could trust Fersen to have made all the arrangements.
Louis was yawning effectively, letting La Fayette see that he was weary of his company; but it was not as easy as it had been to dismiss a general. La Fayette talked, and Louis must not draw attention to his desire to go to bed. Marat’s article might be remembered, in which case La Fayette might consider it expedient to double the guard.
But at length La Fayette, in consideration of the King’s yawns, took his leave; but Louis’ troubles were only just beginning. He must submit to his coucher, for the etiquette of the Court had not been so far forgotten as to allow the abandonment of such a traditional ceremony. So Louis was put to bed and, according to the old custom, his valet must sleep in his bed chamber, with a cord attached to his wrist and to the King’s bed-curtains, so that if the King needed him, all he had to do was reach for the curtains and jerk the man awake. How to escape from the valet, who was a man who could not be trusted with the secret, had occupied the minds of them all for many nights. It had been arranged that the King should go to his bed, have the curtains drawn as though he wished to settle down to immediate sleep, and while the valet went into his closet to undress, dart out from behind the curtains into the Dauphin’s bedchamber which adjoined his. There he would pick up the clothes which were ready for him in the Dauphin’s room – a lackey’s suit and hat, and a crude wig, and then tiptoe down the secret staircase with these to one of the lower rooms where Guardsman de Maiden who was in the secret would help the King to dress.
So the King of France, barefooted and in his nightgown, escaped from his valet and, being dressed in these humble garments, walked calmly out of his Palace across the courtyard past the guards who mumbled a sleepy good night, and out into the streets, across to the Petite Place du Carrousel to the rue de l’Echelle and the fiacre.
It was disconcerting to find that the Queen, who should have left the Palace earlier than the King, had not yet arrived.
Antoinette followed the guardsman.
They had escaped from the Palace, and her spirits were rising. Never again, she thought, shall I live a prisoner in that gloomy Palace.