“Madame,” said Sauce, “you are going the wrong way to Frankfort—but that is not the question. Have you a passport?” Madame de Tourzel drew the passport from her pocket, and presented it to the Procureur de la Commune. The passport was correct. It was, in fact, that of Madame de Korff, which M. de Fersen had given to the Queen. M. Sauce took the passport, which the false Baroness handed him; and, by the light of a lantern which an officious bystander offered him, began to reconnoitre the King. The king, no doubt, wounded by the mark of disrespect, tried to make some resistance. “Who are you, sir?” asked he of the magistrate. “What is your rank? Are you only a National Guard?” “I am Procureur de la Commune,” replied M. Sauce. The King, whether dumbfounded by the force of these words, or conceiving that the response was sufficient, made no further objections. The procureur threw his eyes over the passport, and addressing, not the King, but the false Baroness de Korff,—“Madame,” said he, “it is too late to _viser_ a passport to-night; and, on the other hand, it is my duty to detain you!” The Queen interposed. “Why so, sir?” she demanded in an imperative manner. “Because, did I permit you to continue your route, I should be running a risk, on account of the reports that are flying about.” “Pray, sir, to what reports do you allude?” “The report of the flight of the King and his family,” replied Sauce, fixedly regarding the King. The travellers were aghast. The Queen drew back into the shadow of the carriage. All this time, the passport was being examined, in a public room in the “Grand Monarque,” by the light of two candles. A member of the council remarked that the passport was correct, since it had been signed by the King and the Minister for Foreign Affairs. “Yes,” remarked Drouet, who had arrived with Guillaume and Regnier during the discussion, “but it is not signed by the President of the National Assembly!” “How?” said a voice. “Why should it be signed by him?” “Certainly, it should be,” said Drouet, “considering that France is a nation—considering that it has appointed deputies to maintain its rights. The true King of France is he who sat on a seat as lofty as the King’s at the Champ de Mars—not only the veritable, but the more than King!” All were silent. No one could oppose such logic as that. That great social question, which had disturbed France for seven hundred years,—“Is there in France an authority superior to the King’s?” was settled in the public room of an inn in a little town on the borders of the Forest of Argonne. Drouet walked straight to the carriage. In all popular movements he took the lead, and, therefore, the responsibility.