“I know not; but I am very nervous about it.” “Wake up, monsieur,” said the same voice, with an impatient gesture. “Do you not hear what M. Valory says?” “What does he say?” replied a masculine voice. “He says that we are at Varennes, and that there are no relays.” “Has he asked?” “For a quarter of an hour I knocked; for another quarter, I talked, I asked, and commanded fruitlessly.” “Let us get out,” said the masculine voice, “and take a look about for ourselves.” The door opened. “No,” said the female voice; “let me get down; I will manage it,”—and she leaped nimbly to the earth. “Madame—madame!” said the voice of a child; “let me get out with you.” “No, Louis,” said the lady; “stay in the carriage with your papa; I shall come back in a moment. Give me your arm, M. de Valory.” The courier approached, respectfully, his hat in his hand, and offered his arm to the lady who asked it. “Here,” said she; “just here is a door opening.” But as she spoke the words, though in the slightest degree open, it was shut again. M. de Valory jumped forward, and, at the risk of cutting his hand, seized the door on his side, and pulled it violently backward. The door yielded to the force used, and showed a man of fifty or fifty-five years, holding a candle in his hand. He was attired in a dressing-gown, and had his naked feet thrust into slippers. This was the same M. Préfontaine whom I have already spoken of, and with whom M. Dampierre stayed when he came to Varennes. “What do you want, Monsieur?” asked the astonished old Chevalier; “and why do you break open my door?” “Monsieur,” replied the courier, “we do not know Varennes; we are _en route_ for Stenay. Will you be kind enough to point out the road we ought to follow?” “If I render you this service, perhaps I shall be compromised!” “You, I am sure, will never refuse to render a service to a lady who is in danger.” “Monsieur,” said the old gentleman, “the lady who is behind you is not simply a woman.” Then lowering his voice, he said, “It is the Queen!” M. de Valory tried to deny it; but the Queen, taking him by the arm, “Lose no time in discussion,” she said; “tell the King alone that we are discovered.” At this moment, two other young gentlemen, dressed as couriers, jumped down from the box of the chaise. “Sire,” said M. Valory, “the Queen desires me to tell you that she is recognised.” “By whom?” asked the King. “By an old man, of courteous manners, who, though a little timid, has the air of a gentleman.” “Ask him to come and speak to me,” said the King. M. Valory transmitted the invitation to the gentleman. He went to the carriage, showing signs of great apprehension. The Queen followed him; her face, made visible by the light of the candle which he held, expressed supreme disdain. “Your name, sir?” asked the King. “De Préfontaine,” replied the interrogated, hesitatingly. “Who are you?” “Major of cavalry, sire, and Chevalier of the Military Order of St. Louis.”