The King turned to Antoinette. ‘They are determined,’ he said, ‘to take us back to Paris.’
He threw the paper onto the bed in a mood of utter dejection. The Queen picked it up, screwed it contemptuously into a ball, and threw it on the floor.
The King said: ‘Are you aware that Bouillé is marching on the town? If he should arrive while you attempt to force us to return, there will be bloodshed in Varennes.’
‘Sire, we have had our orders from Monsieur de La Fayette and the National Assembly.’
‘Do the orders of your King mean nothing to you?’
One of the men – Romeuf – looked shamefaced; the other boldly spoke up. ‘We must obey the Assembly.’
‘You do not understand,’ said Louis. ‘I merely wish to gather loyal troops about me, and then I shall parley and come to terms with those men who are making revolution. Wait until the arrival of Bouillé. He will be here in a short time. I am sure of that.’
Romeuf, who had often guarded the Tuileries and had been impressed by the courage of the Queen, looked anxiously at his companion and said: ‘We had no instructions as to when we should make the return journey. We could wait for Bouillé.’
Bayon’s answer was to stride from the room. He stood at the door of the house, and there was silence throughout the crowd assembled there.
Then Bayon shouted: ‘They want to wait here until Bouillé arrives with his army. Bouillé is against the revolution. He will cut you to pieces; he will bring bloodshed to Varennes. He has trained soldiers at his command, armed men. And what have you but your pitchforks and scythes and a few guns which will not help you? We must set out for Paris as soon as we can arrange it … and we must take the royal family with us.’
‘A Paris!’ shouted someone in the crowd, and the others took up the cry.
In the room Romeuf looked anxiously at the Queen who had scarcely glanced at him since he had entered the house. Antoinette knew how to imply her disgust merely by making those who had displeased her feel that they did not exist at all as far as she was concerned.
Romeuf was very sorry that he had been selected for the task.
He said: ‘Madame, I tried … I did all in my power … to delay our journey. When we passed through the towns on the route and I heard that such a magnificent berline had passed that way, I did everything in my power….’
The Queen turned to him and her smile was very charming. ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘I misjudged you. You are their slave … even as they would make us.’
‘There is one thing you must do, Madame,’ said Romeuf, almost happy now. ‘Delay the return. Do not let them take you to Paris…. Do anything … but stay here … until Bouillé arrives. The mob can be scattered with a few shots, and your enterprise will have succeeded.’
Bayon returned to the room.
‘I must ask Your Majesties to make ready at once for the return to Paris.’
‘The children are not yet ready,’ said the Queen. ‘They must not be frightened. They are still sleeping, you see.’
‘Then rouse them and prepare them at once, Madame.’
Madame de Tourzel and Madame Neuville wakened the children and dressed them. The Dauphin asked eager questions and was delighted to see the uniforms of Bayon and Romeuf. ‘So we have soldiers,’ he chuckled. ‘Are you coming with us on our picnic?’
‘Yes,’ said Bayon grimly, ‘we are coming with you, Monsieur le Dauphin.’
‘I like soldiers,’ confided the Dauphin.
Madame Royale was silent, understanding that they were all in acute danger.
‘We must eat before we begin the journey,’ said the King. ‘We have had an exhausting night and are in no fit state to travel.’
Madame Sausse said she would prepare food. And she murmured to Madame de Tourzeclass="underline" ‘I shall take my time about it. I pray that the troops will arrive in time and save Their Majesties from these terrible revolutionaries.’
‘Yes, do please be a long, long time preparing the meal,’ said Antoinette.
Madame Sausse turned to her with troubled eyes. ‘I will do my best, Madame, but I dare not delay too long. If we were suspected of trying to help you, I dare not think what would happen to us. Terrible things have happened, Madame.’
Antoinette put out a hand and grasped that of Madame Sausse. ‘I know you will do your best.’
The meal was eventually prepared; but only the King and the children were able to eat. And when they had finished, still Bouillé had not come.
“What can we do now?’ cried Antoinette. ‘He must be near at hand. Oh God … what is keeping him?’
Madame Neuville suddenly slipped to the floor and began to writhe and thresh about with her arms and legs.
The Queen knelt down beside her. She cried to all those looking on: ‘Do not stand there. Fetch a doctor. We cannot travel with the lady in this state.’
Madame Neuville opened one eye. The Queen bent over her. ‘You were very good,’ she whispered. ‘It was a very convincing fit.’
But the doctor was brought all too quickly, for he was in the crowd outside the Sausses’ house, and five minutes after the Queen had called for help he was bending over Madame Neuville.
He gave her a potion which he declared would put her absolutely to rights, and he added that she was quite fit to travel without delay.
The mob was suspicious. ‘No more waiting,’ they cried. ‘A Paris!’
Still Bouillé had not come, and there could be no more waiting. The royal family got into the berline; the townsfolk of Varennes marched beside it, and behind it, in front of it and all around it. They would accompany it on the first stage of its journey until more ardent revolutionaries were ready to take their place.
‘A Paris!’ ‘A Paris!’ shouted the crowds; and the Queen lay back exhausted, humiliated, bitterly wondering what was happening now at Montmédy.
Almost an hour later Bouillé and his men came riding to the outskirts of Varennes.
They knew they were too late. The bridge had been broken down and there was no ford. All along the road they saw people armed with pitchforks; they heard them singing the songs of the revolution.
He was too late to overtake the berline. The people were in an ugly mood. It seemed to Bouillé that there was nothing he could do but go back the way he had come; he did not want to provoke a civil war.
Helpless, mortified, he retired from the scene.
Then began the terrifying journey to Paris, which was much slower than the journey to Varennes had been.
In each town through which they passed crowds gathered. They had made it an occasion for revelry. The drunken peasants were waiting for the berline as it came along the road; they followed it for miles, peering into the windows, screaming insults at the family, reserving most of their insulting obscenities for the Queen who, more than any of the others, annoyed them because of the calm and haughty way she sat there, seeming not to see them.
‘A bas Antoinette!’ they screamed. ‘A la lanterne!’ And they came to the window of the berline; they clung to it, brandishing their knives. Still she did not look at them; and her very dignity unnerved them, so that they fell away murmuring feebly: ‘A bas Antoinette!’
The heat was intense; the closed berline stuffy; the journey seemed interminable. There were two representatives of the National Assembly to guard them in the carriage; one was Petion, the other Barnave. Petion, one of the Jacobins, could not resist talking to the royal family, and he addressed most of his remarks to the Queen, for he felt she was more worthy of his interest than the others. They discussed the establishment of a republic, the aims of the Assembly.