“Sire,” said he, “you see before you one of your most faithful servants. My name is Duval de Dampierre, Comte de Haus. I have married a lady of the House of Legur, a relative of the minister of that name, and a niece of M. d’Allonville.” “All these names are known to me,” replied the King; “and I am touched at the proof of fidelity which you give me.” This whispered conversation, after the pretence of the Comte in presenting arms to the King on his road, was a direct provocation to that crowd who were taking him who had wished to escape back to Paris. In the meantime the Comte had been gently pushed on one side, and darting off, he disappeared in the distance. The head of the procession reached the end of the town, and arrived at the decline of Dammartin la Planchette. As they left the city, M. de Dampierre reappeared, and followed their route, keeping himself on the other side of the hedge and ditch. He wished, by some means, to get on to the top of the King’s carriage, from whence he could hold communication with the royal party inside. These signs, as they could easily understand them, excited defiance. They believed that in the few words exchanged at the door of the carriage, a project for a rescue had been broached; they closed round the carriage, and the words “Be on the alert!” circulated through the ranks of the National Guards. M. de Dampierre tried to approach the carriage once again, and was repulsed, not only with murmurs, but with menaces; the guards crossing their muskets across the door to prevent his holding any communication with the King. This almost insolent persistence on his part had exasperated even the most temperate. Seeing that his efforts were useless, M. de Dampierre resolved to finish with an act of bravado. Having accomplished two-thirds of the descent, at a spot called La Grevières, M. de Dampierre called out a second time “Vive le Roi!” fired off his gun in the air, and plunging his rowels into his steed, darted off at a gallop. A wood was situated about half a league from the road. They believed that some troops were in ambuscade there, and that the discharge of the gun was a preconcerted signal for them. Five or six horsemen dashed off in pursuit of M. de Dampierre; ten or twelve shots were fired at him at the same time, but none of the bullets touched him. M. de Dampierre, still at a gallop, waved his arm in a triumphant manner in the air. I rushed off like the others, though on foot, not to capture M. de Dampierre—heaven forbid!—but, on the contrary, to help him if needful. M. de Dampierre had already galloped more than five hundred yards, and he had almost escaped from his pursuers, when his horse, in leaping a ditch, stumbled, and fell. But, with the aid of the bit and bridle, he managed to raise him up again, and once more set off at a gallop. His gun was left in the ditch. At this moment a solitary gun was discharged.