Varennes was a secluded little village and had no post-house, but a
place in the outskirts of the town, where he might obtain a change of
horses, had been so carefully described to the King that he had no
difficulty in finding it. Here they stopped, expecting to get the
horses, but nothing was to be seen of them. In vain the King knocked on
the door; no one answered. As a matter of fact, the plan had been
changed at the last moment, owing to the disturbances existing all over
the country, and the horses had been sent to an inn on the other side of
the river; but, through more misunderstandings and errors, someone had
neglected to notify the King. Lights were still visible in the house,
and the Queen herself alighted from the coach and tried to obtain some
response from the inmates; but her hope of obtaining information by some
chance was not realized, and half an hour was lost. Drouet knew how to
make the most of the time. When at last the travellers were forced to
abandon the attempt and re-enter the coach, the postilions refused to go
any farther, pretending that their horses were too exhausted to continue
the journey. Just then the courier returned, bringing with him a man in
a dressing-gown and with a nightcap on his head. As he approached the
royal couple they demanded impatiently: “Where are our horses, fellow?
Tell us at once!”
“Your horses!” he shouted, flinging himself almost inside the vehicle.
“That I cannot say; but I know another secret I will not tell you.”
“Do you know Frau von Korff?” asked Madame de Tourzel.
“No,” said he, “but I know something better than that”; and with these
words he disappeared again. At the Queen’s entreaties, the postilions
finally consented to drive the coach at least through the town. The
travellers now believed themselves safe; they attributed this incident,
like the other mishaps of their journey, to some error or
miscalculation, and, full of hope, saw themselves already under the
protection of Bouillé’s loyal troops. But alas! matters were soon to
assume a different aspect.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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