“In your double capacity as major of cavalry, and Chevalier of the Order of St. Louis, you have twice sworn fealty to your King. It is, therefore, your duty to aid me in the difficulty in which I find myself.” The Major murmured some words; the Queen stamped her foot with impatience. “Ah, sire!” said she; “see you not that the Major is afraid.” The King looked as if he had not heard her remark. “Monsieur,” continued he, “have you heard that a detachment of hussars, and relays of horses, await a treasure which must pass through Varennes?” “Yes, sire,” replied M. de Préfontaine. “Where are the hussars? Where are the horses?” “In the Low Town, sire.” “And the officers?” “At the ‘Hotel du Grand Monarque.’” “Monsieur, I thank you,” said the King. “You can return to your house; no one has seen you—no one has heard you; therefore, no harm can happen to you.” The Major took the hint, and retired, after having made a profound obeisance. “Messieurs,” said the King, addressing the two young gentlemen who had dismounted from the box-seat, “take your places. You, M. de Valory, jump on your horse, and gallop on to the ‘Grand Monarque.’ You hear that our escort is there.” The two young gentlemen took their places, and M. de Valory vaulted into his saddle. The King and Queen re-entered the carriage, the door of which was shut by one of the postilions. “Postilions!” cried all three gentlemen, with one voice, “to the ‘Hotel du Grand Monarque.’” The men whipped up their horses; but at the same instant, a man, covered with dust, on a horse flecked with foam, seemed to spring from the ground, and rushing diagonally across the road, cried out, in a voice of thunder, “Stop, postilions! You drive the King!” I uttered a cry of astonishment, for I recognized the voice of M. Drouet. The postilions who had hitherto been lashing their horses, stopped, as if stricken by a cannon-shot. The Queen felt, without doubt, that it was a moment for decisive action. “Order them! Command them!” she cried, to the King. The King put his head out of the carriage window. “Who are you, sir,” said he, “that you dare to give orders here?” “A simple citizen, sire,” replied M. Drouet; “but,” continued he, raising himself in his stirrups, and stretching out his arm, “I speak in the name of the nation and of the law. Postilions! not a step farther, on your lives!” “Postilions!” cried the King, “to the ‘Grand Monarque!’ It is I who command you!” “To the ‘Grand Monarque!’” cried the three gentlemen. “Postilions!” cried M. Drouet, “you know me well, and are accustomed to obey me. I am Jean Baptiste Drouet, postmaster at St. Menehould.” M. de Valory saw the indecision of the postilions—ten men stopped by one. He saw that it was necessary to slay that one, and, drawing his _couteau de chasse_, he went at him. In a moment, I jumped out of my hiding-place, and seized the bridle of his horse. The horse, being frightened, reared, and threw its rider.