M. de Fersen would rejoin them in Austria. He returned to Paris, to acquaint himself with what was going on; he would then start for Brussels. Man proposes, God disposes. The Queen, two years later, was executed in the Place de la Revolution; and M. de Person perished at Stockholm, where he was slain in a riot, stricken to death by blows from umbrellas, administered by drunken women. But, mercifully, the future was not known to them. They parted full of hope. M. de Valory borrowed a post-horse, and galloped on in advance, to command the relays. M. de Malden and De Moustier took their seats on the box of the berlin, which set off at the full speed of which six vigorous horses were capable. The cabriolet came on in the rear. M. de Fersen followed with his eyes the carriage, rapidly disappearing in the distance; and when it had entirely disappeared, he got into his own carriage, and returned to Paris. He had on his costume as coachman; and much did it astonish the driver of the cabriolet to see a coachman kissing the hands of the King, disguised as a domestic. It is true that M. de Fersen had only kissed the King’s hands in order to be able to go through the same ceremony with regard to the Queen. That was another imprudence added to those which we have already mentioned. All went well as far as Montmirail, where the traces of the royal carriage snapped asunder. It was necessary to stop. They thus lost two hours—the days were long; the night of the 20th of June is the shortest in the year. Then they came to a hill. The King insisted on their walking up; thus they lost another half-hour. Half-past four sounded from the cathedral as the berlin entered Châlons, and stopped at the post-house, then situated at the end of the Rue St. Jacques. M. de Valory approached the carriage. “All goes well, Francis,” said the Queen to him. “It seems to me that, if there had been an intention of stopping us, it would have been put into execution before now.” In speaking to M. de Valory, the Queen disclosed her countenance. The King likewise imprudently showed himself. The postmaster, Oudes, recognized him; one of the spectators, whom curiosity had drawn to the spot, at once knew that it was the King. The postmaster saw the above-mentioned spectator disappear, and consequently feared some evil to the King. “Sire,” said he, in a whisper, “for heaven’s sake do not expose yourself, or you are lost!” Then, speaking to the postilions, “How now, idlers!” cried he. “Is this the way that you treat well-to-do travellers who pay thirty sous?” And he himself, to set an example to the postilions, put his shoulder to the work. The horses were put to, and the carriage was in readiness speedily. “Off you go!” cried the postmaster.