"Chalons is too strong a place for even a hundred men to do anything efficacious to your safety if menaced. Besides, Bouille does not answer for anything beyond St. Menehould. All he can do is set his first troops at Sommevelle Bridge. That is the first post beyond Chalons."
"What time will it take?"
"The King can go from Paris to Montmedy in thirty-six hours."
"What have you decided about the relay of horses at Varennes? where we must be certain not to want for them; it is most important."
"I have investigated the spot and decided to place the horses on the other side of the little town. It will be better to dash through, coming full speed from Clermont, and change horses five hundred paces from the bridge, guarded and defended if signalled by three or four men."
Charny gave the King a paper.
It was Bouille's arrangement of the stations of the troops along the road for the royal escape. The cover would be that the soldiers were waiting to convoy some money sent by the War Minister.
"Everything has been foreseen," said the King delightedly. "But talking of money, do you know whether Bouille has received the million I sent him?"
"Yes, but as assignats are below par, he would lose twenty per cent on the gross amount, only for a faithful subject of your Majesty who cashed, as if gold, a hundred thousand crowns' worth."
"And the rest?" inquired the King, eyeing the speaker.
"Count Bouille got his banker to take it; so that there will be no lack of the sinews of war."
"I thank you, my lord count," said the sovereign. "I should like to know the name of the faithful servitor who perhaps lessened his cash by giving the sum to Bouille."
"He is rich and consequently there was no merit in what he did. The only condition he put in doing the act was to have his name kept back."
"Still you know him?"
"Yes, I know who it is."
"Then, Lord Charny," said the monarch with the hearty dignity which he sometimes showed, as he took a ring off his finger, "here is a jewel very dear to me. I took it off the finger of my dying father when his hand was chill in death. Its value is therefore that which I attach to it; it has no other; but for a soul which understands me, it will be more precious than the finest diamond. Repeat to the faithful servitor what I say, my lord, and give him this gem from me."
Charny's bosom heaved as he dropped on one knee to receive the ring from the royal hand.
At this juncture the door opened. The King turned sharply, for a door to open thus was worse than infraction of etiquette; it was an insult only to be excused by great necessity.
It was the Queen, pale and holding a paper. She let it drop with a cry of astonishment at seeing Count Charny at the feet of her consort. The noble rose and saluted the lady, who faltered:
"Charny here, in the King's rooms, in the Tuileries!" And she said to herself: "Without my knowing it!"
There was such sorrow in the tone that Charny guessed the reason and took two steps towards her.
"I have just arrived and I was going to crave the King's permission for me to pay my respects to your Majesty," he said.
The blood reappeared on her cheeks; she had not heard that voice for a long while and the sweet tone charmed her ears. She held out both hands towards him but brought back one upon her heart from its beating too violently. Charny noticed all this although in the short space required for the King to pick up the paper, which the draft from the door had floated to the side of the room.
The King read without understanding.
"What is the meaning of the word 'Flee' three times written, and the fragment of a signature?" inquired he.
"Sire, it seems that Mirabeau died ten minutes ago, and that is the advice he sends you."
"It is good advice," returned the King, "and this time the instant to put it into execution has come."
The Queen looked at them both, and said to the count:
"Follow me, my lord."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE HUSBAND'S PROMISE
The Queen sank upon a divan when she had arrived within her own apartments, making a sign for Charny to close the door.
Scarcely was she seated before her heart overflowed and she burst into sobs. They were so sincere and forcible that they went down into the depths of Charny's heart and sought for his former love. Such passions burning in a man never completely die out unless from one of those dreadful shocks which turn love to loathing.
He was in that strange dilemma which they will appreciate who have stood in the same: between old love and the new.
He loved his wife with all the pity in his bosom and he pitied the Queen with all his soul. He could not help feeling regret and giving words of consolation.
But he saw that reproach pierced through this sobbing; that recrimination came to light among the tears, reminding him of the exactions of this love, the absolute will, the regal despotism mingled with the expressions of tenderness and proofs of passion; he steeled himself against the exactions and took up arms against the despotism, entering into the strife against the will. He compared all this with Andrea's sweet, unalterable countenance, and preferred the statue, though he believed it to be of snow, to this glowing bronze, heated from the furnace, ever ready to dart from its eyes the lightnings of love, pride and jealousy.
This time the Queen wept without saying anything.
It was more than eight months since she had seen him. Before this, for two or three years she had believed that they could not separate without their hearts breaking. Her only consolation had been that he was working for her sake in doing some deed for the King.
But it was a weak consolation.
She wept for the sake of relief, for her pent-up tears would have choked her if she had not poured them forth. Was it joy or pain that held her silent? both, perhaps, for many mighty emotions dissolve in tears.
With more love even than respect, Charny went up to her, took one of her hands away from her face and said as he applied his lips to it:
"Madam, I am proud and happy to say that not an hour has been without toil for you since I went hence."
"Oh, Charny," retorted the Queen, "there was a time when you might have been less busy on my account but you would have thought the more of me."
"I was charged by the King with grave responsibility, which imposed the more strict silence until the business was accomplished. It is done at present. I can see and speak with you now, but I might not write a letter up to this period."
"It is a fine sample of loyalty, and I regret that it should be performed at the expense of another sentiment, George," she said with melancholy.
She pressed his hand tenderly, while eyeing him with that gaze for which once he would have flung away the life still at her service.
She noticed that he was not the courier dusty and bloody from spurring, but the courtier spic and span according to the rules of the Royal Household.
