The Dauphin began to whimper. ‘Oh, Maman … I’m too hot. I want to get out now.
‘You must be patient,’ soothed the Queen. ‘Do not forget that I am your stern governess, Madame Rochet.’
‘No, no,’ said the Dauphin. ‘You are my maman, and I am too hot.’
As the coach began to labour up a hill, Madame de Tourzel suggested that she and the children should walk. It would be good for them to have a little exercise and they would not be much slower than the coach which they could rejoin at the top of the hill.
This seemed an excellent suggestion and the berline was halted while Madame de Tourzel alighted with the children. The berline reached the top of the hill first, for the Dauphin had wanted to linger in the fields, and half an hour or so was lost at that point; but no one felt this was of any great importance because the little boy was so much less fretful, and after another meal he leaned against his mother and went to sleep.
It was early afternoon when they came to Petit Chaintry – a small village close to the main one of Chaintry – for Fersen had deemed it wise that they should change horses at the smaller hamlet. The postmaster’s son-in-law was spending the day with his wife’s family in Petit Chaintry; he was an innkeeper who travelled now and then to Paris, and there he had seen the King.
While the horses were being changed, this man, Gabriel Vallet, strolled out to look at the extraordinary vehicle which was such as he had never seen before. It was quite magnificent.
The travellers must be very rich indeed, he guessed. He touched the berline and nodded sagely. Oh, yes, a very fine piece of work, perfectly sprung; then he caught a glimpse of the damask lining of the coach.
Émigrés, he thought. Now I wonder who? Important people doubtless. It must be hot inside that coach. Why do they not get out and enjoy a little fresh air while they can?
He strolled past the window of the berline, and caught his breath. Could he be mistaken? The wig was rough, and the hat that of a lackey, but the face beneath it – that plump long-nosed face? Surely he was not mistaken. Two children and a woman dressed as a governess. A governess! Not even during the revolution, when all classes had discovered that they were equal, could a governess learn that air of dignity.
Vallet drew his father-in-law to one side.
‘You have distinguished callers, Papa,’ he said.
‘So?’ said the old man. ‘And who are these?’
‘Only the King, the Queen, the Dauphin, Madame Royale and some others.’
The old man was overcome with surprise and pleasure at serving the King; he went out to the berline and, bowing low, said: ‘Your Majesty, this a great honour and one I shall remember to my dying day. We are humble folk, but all that we have is at Your Majesty’s service.’
Louis, touched as ever by the devotion of one of his dear children, murmured to the Queen, who was looking horrified: ‘Have no fear. We are far from Paris, and these dear people are our friends.’
Vallet appeared and bowed, as his father-in-law had done. Then his wife came out with her mother and her sisters. They were flustered with excitement.
‘We have a goose just ready to serve, Your Majesty. If you would honour us by eating it … we should consider ourselves your most fortunate subjects.’
Louis decided that to refuse the hospitality would be churlish. So they left the berline and took refreshment in the house of these people; and the Queen found gifts from the treasures she had brought with her to bestow upon them. The Dauphin recovered his spirits, and Madame Royale, who now understood that they were in flight from the gloomy Tuileries, was equally joyful.
Vallet asked a special boon. If he could act as postilion on the berline as far as Châlons he would be honoured. He begged the King to accept his service.
The King did not see how he could refuse this request, since he had accepted the homage and hospitality of Vallet’s family; and they set out from Petit Chaintry in good spirits. They had lost some time by stopping there, and they had never made up the initial loss. Vallet, determined to serve the King with all his heart, tried to get too much out of the horses, with the result that two of them fell and there was some damage done to the traces.
This had to be repaired, which naturally involved more delay; but at length they came into Châlons.
Here the secret of their identity must be kept, for Châlons was no little village. They were all in good spirits. They were well on their way, and once through Châlons they would soon make contact with the cavalry. Moreover the people of this wine-growing country were not so deeply concerned with politics as the Parisians. They must have seen many émigrés escaping to the border. Why should they give special attention to one little party?
There was the fact though that, if they had seen many departing émigrés, they had never yet seen any travelling in such style, and the berline with its six horses and its magnificent outward appearance would attract notice wherever it went.
Vallet, the proud postilion, determined though he was to keep the secret, betrayed the fact that he nevertheless had a secret; the townsfolk, who liked to stand about near the posting stations to talk to travellers, were greatly impressed by the berline. They inspected it, glancing in at the occupants. Two children. That was suspicious in itself. Who were the mysterious strangers? People of high rank. Why, it might be … Why should it not be … ?
And there was Vallet, striding about, looking as though he could tell a good tale of he would, if he were not bound in honour to keep a secret.
One knowledgeable vagabond whispered to the postmaster as he changed the horses: ‘Who do you think this is, eh?’
‘They have not let me into their secrets,’ murmured the postmaster.
‘They have a royal look, it seems to me …’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Louis and Antoinette.’
‘Pish!’ said the postmaster, who disliked responsibility. ‘My job is to change horses, not to invent trouble.’
The horses were changed; the berline was ready to leave. A crowd gathered to watch it go, and in that crowd it was already being whispered: It is the King and his family.’
The berline drove out of Châlons.
The King smiled and looked reassuringly at his family.
‘That was the testing place,’ he said. ‘We all decided, you remember, that once through Châlons we should be safe.’
He closed his eyes. He was ready for a little nap.
The Queen listened to the clop clop of the horses’ hoofs. Soon Axel … soon, she was thinking.
Soon they would reach Pont de Somme-Vesle, and there they would find waiting for them the Duc de Choiseul and his cavalry; he would accompany the berline until they joined up with Bouillé’s troops. ‘Then,’ said the King, ‘all will be well, for if any try to stop us, they will have my loyal soldiers to face.’
The Dauphin was pointing to the green fields.
‘Papa, Papa, let us get out and pick some flowers.’
‘Should we not go on?’ said the Queen. ‘We are already late.’
‘We have passed the danger,’ Louis assured her. ‘A few minutes at the roadside will do us no harm and will placate Monsieur le Dauphin.’
So the berline pulled up at the roadside, and the Dauphin and Madame Royal ran about shrieking with joy.
Antoinette sat back fanning herself.
‘It was pleasant,’ she said, ‘to be with loyal people again.’
‘That man Vallet was touching,’ murmured the King, ‘quite touching … in his desire to help us.’
In the distance they heard the sound of galloping hoofs, and they came nearer and nearer. It was a solitary horseman who slackened his pace a little as he approached the berline.