* * * * * After the arrest of M. Dandoins and his lieutenant, an officer of the National Guard, Citizen Legay, had established under the trees at the angle of the Rue de la Post au Bois and the Rue du Marais a post of National Guards, picked men, and all ordered to fire on any one entering or leaving the city at a gallop, without responding to the challenge of the sentinels. Some minutes after these orders had been given, a report was circulated that the hussars of Pont-de-Somme-Vesles had gone round the town, and that Drouet and Guillaume ran a great risk of falling into their hands. M. Legay then asked for two volunteers to go with him on the road, and pick up what information they could with regard to Drouet and Guillaume. Two gendarmes, Collet and Pointe, offered themselves, and all three set out on their voyage of discovery. On the road they met the two citizens of St. Menehould, who had started on sorry hacks, and been unable to keep up the chase. They learnt from them that no accident had happened to the two messengers. Anxious to be the bearers of this good news, they put their horses to the gallop, and, forgetting the orders given by Legay, omitted to answer the challenge of the sentinels in ambuscade. The sentinels fired. Two of the horsemen fell; one dead, and the other wounded. Legay received five or six shots in the arm and hand. The same day that the King repassed St. Menehould, the slain gendarme was buried. The King, on arriving, found the church hung with black, and the whole town prepared to follow the body to its last home. CHAPTER XXXIII. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE TURNS UP. Nothing important passed between Varennes and St. Menehould. The illustrious prisoners, starting at every new noise, lost in a measure, as they approached the latter town, every hope of succor. The first thing they encountered was a sort of rebuke from the dead. Of course, I allude to the interment of the man shot in the evening by the sentinels. The royal carriages stopped in order to allow the funeral procession to pass. Two kings found themselves face to face with each other—a living majesty and the King of Death. The living King recognised the power of King Death, and bowed down before him. St. Menehould was crowded. The National Guard poured in from all points, those from Châlons coming in public or private vehicles. In fact, the affluence of people was such that they feared a lack of provisions. In the midst of all these people coming and going, I recognised, mounted on a little pony, M. Dampierre, our old chasseur of the Forest of Argonne. He knew me, and came to me, trying to force the line of guards on duty at the side of the gates. It was I who repulsed him, because he did not count on my resistance. “Pardon, M. le Comte,” said I; “you cannot pass!” “Why can I not pass?” asked he. “Because it is ordered that none shall be allowed to approach the King’s carriage.” “Who gave that order?”