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All France had not yet reached the republican virulence of Paris. “All goes well, Francois,” said the queen in a glad tone to Valory, her courier. “If we were to have been stopped, it would have taken place already.”

At St. Menehould, however, they found the people in a different temper. The king was recognized, and though his carriage was not stopped, a detachment of dragoons, who had followed him at a distance, was not suffered to proceed, the people cutting the girths of the horses. Young Drouet, of whom we have already spoken, sprang on horseback and rode hurriedly on towards Varennes, preceding the carriage.

The soldiers who had been posted at Varennes were in no condition to assist the king. The son of Marquis Bouille, who had accompanied the royal party, found them helplessly intoxicated, and rode off at full speed to inform his father of the alarming condition of affairs.

Meanwhile, the king, who had taken refuge in the shop of the grocer Sausse, awaited the municipal authorities in no small perturbation of spirits. They presented themselves at length before him, bowing with great show of respect, and humbly asking his orders.

“Have the horses put to my carriage without delay,” he said, with no further attempt at concealment, “that I may start for Montmedy.”

They continued respectful, but were provided with various reasons why they could not obey: the horses were at a distance; those in the stables were not in condition to travel; pretext after pretext was advanced for delay. In truth, no pretext was needed; the adjoining street was filled with armed revolutionists, and in no case would the carriage have been suffered to proceed.

As daybreak approached a detachment of dragoons rode into the town. They were those who had been posted near Chalons, and who had ridden on towards Montmedy after the king’s passage. Missing him, they had returned. Choiseul, their commander, pushed through the people and entered the shop.

“You are environed here,” he said to the king. “We are not strong enough to take the carriage through; but if you will mount on horseback we can force a passage through the crowd.”

“If I were alone I should try it,” said Louis. “I cannot do it as matters stand. I am waiting for daylight; they do not refuse to let me go on; moreover, M. de Bouille will soon be here.”

He did not recognize the danger of delay. The crowd in the streets was increasing; the bridge was barricaded; the authorities had sent a messenger in haste to Paris to tell what had happened and ask orders from the National Assembly.

“Tell M. de Bouille that I am a prisoner,” said the king to Captain Deslon, the commander of a detachment, who had just reached him. “I suspect that he cannot do anything for me, but I desire him to do what he can.”

The queen meanwhile was urgently entreating Madame Sausse to use her influence with her husband and procure an order for the king’s release. She found the good woman by no means inclined to favor her.

“You are thinking of the king,” she said; “I am thinking of M. Sausse; each is for her own husband.”

By this time the throng in the streets was growing impatient and violent. “To Paris! to Paris!” shouted the people. The king grew frightened. Bouille had failed to appear. There was no indication of his approach. The excitement grew momentarily greater.

During this anxious interval two officers rode rapidly up on the road from Paris, and presented themselves before the king. They were aides-de-camp of General Lafayette, commander of the National Guard. One of them, Romeuf by name, handed Louis a decree of the assembly ordering pursuit and return of the king. It cited an act which forbade any public functionary to remove himself more than twenty leagues from his post.

“I never sanctioned that,” cried the king, angrily, flinging the paper on the bed where the dauphin lay.