At last, after having exhausted every possible means of delay, the carriage started, escorted by the National Guard, under the command of M. Signemont, by the hussars of M. de Choiseul, which had been sent to protect his flight, and by more than four thousand citizens of Varennes and its suburbs, armed with guns, pitchforks, and scythes. The carriage of the King did not, as some historians say, pass the house of the grocer, Sauce; that was the historical limit of the fatal journey. The moment that the carriage moved, I felt great doubt—or, rather, great remorse. The catastrophe of the arrest of the King had brought in its train an event which, though I have but mentioned it in the place it occupied relatively to that arrest, influenced in a strange manner the whole of my life. One can readily understand that I speak of M. de Malmy’s wound; of the impression that that wound produced on Mdlle. Sophie, and of the involuntary avowal that, on her part, she had made to me. I had a deep affection for Sophie. This affection, more than fraternal, had a spice of jealousy in it; although I must do the poor girl the justice to say that from the moment that she perceived my nascent love, she had done all she could to nip it in the bud, by telling me that she could never be anything more than a sister to me. I always had the suspicion—I will not say that my rival, for there was no real rivalry, was M. de Malmy. This time I could no longer doubt it, and I felt it impossible to remain under the same roof with him. Not only because Sophie loved him and he loved Sophie, but because I knew that he was the origin of all the misery and unhappiness that was gradually wearing her away. As soon as I saw the King ready to set out, and the carriage about to move on to Paris, I bade adieu to M. Gerbaut, without telling him that I did not think of returning to Varennes, and started off without having the courage to see Sophie, whom however, I unexpectedly found in my road, barring up the corridor. “What, Mdlle. Sophie!” She threw herself, weeping, on to my neck. “Each one has his destiny, my good Réné,” said she. “Mine is to suffer. I shall accomplish it.” “Shall I always be your brother?” asked I, weeping myself. “Ah, yes! And if ever I have need of you, I will show you that I am your sister, by coming to you for assistance.” “Heaven guard you, Mdlle. Sophie,” cried I, withdrawing myself from her embrace. “And you, also—heaven bless you, Réné!” And I heard the sobs which followed these words even as far as the door which opened into the street. I took my place at the door of the King’s carriage, making a signal to MM. Drouet and Guillaume, who were on horseback, with the intention of preceding the carriages, in order to make way for, and protect them. What was M. de Bouillé doing at this time? We will tell you in the following chapter. CHAPTER XXXII. WHAT M. DE BOUILLE DID IN THE MEANTIME.